Of Elves And Humans: Redux
by Merilsell
Summary: A tale of two disparate Wardens forced together, of finding a way to overcome the distrust, and their own painful past in the time of the Blight. Very in-depth, character-focused exploration of the Dalish origin/warden, and of all DA:O companions during the Fifth Blight. This is the completely rewritten and new version of my old story already published here. Ao3 Mirror.
1. New People And Old Problems

**A/N:** _Oh damn, it feels nostalgic to go back from Ao3 to FFN after so long, tbh. I have decided to publish my rewrite of OEaH now in a separate story after all, because the mish-mash of old and new did not mesh well and is confusing for reader seeking out to, well, read the story only to be greeted with a vast dip in quality after a while, when reaching my old version from 2011 again. A lot has changed since then, especially regarding my (way of) writing and I want my labor of love story to reflect that, hence the rewrite. _

_However, my main focus will always be on Ao3 now, which means that publishing chapters there takes priority and thus Ao3 will always have the latest chapter of this ongoing story, with FFN trailing two chapters behind as the backup version. If you want to read the up to date version of this story, do seek me out on Ao3 under the same nickname (Merilsell) and same story name via goggle and you should find it easily enough. _

_For all new people: Welcome, I hope you enjoy your stay. This will be far more than just a simple rehashing of game events. I'll give the Dalish origin and Warden and all her companions more substance and depth with lots of added (and canon divergence) scenes, and more extensive/in depth-dialogue. I'm a very character-focused writer, who likes to take things slow but steady. No matter if it is character development, or the relationships to each character. It all makes it more realistic, imo._

_So buckle up as you return with me to Dragon 9:30- this is going to be a looooong story :) _

_._

* * *

***~Home is behind**  
**The world ahead**  
**And there are many paths to tread**  
**Through shadow**  
**To the edge of night**  
**Until the stars are all alight...~***  
\- Pippin; LotR, Return of the king

.

**Chapter 1: New People And Old Problems**

.

Ostagar was brimming with hectic activity.

People rushed back and forth in between the widespread mass of tents, barking orders at servants and soldiers alike. The sound intermingled with the metallic clang of swords clashing and grunts of exertion of men and women testing their skills against each other.

Trails of green leaves mixed with scarlet upon cracked white stone hushed aside whenever a messenger rushed from one place to another. Placed amidst nature as the ancient tevinter ruins were, it was no surprise to find evidence of a waning summer here, instead of only cold, splintered stone. After all, its strategic placement at the edge of the Korcari Wilds was the reason why the ruin still existed and why they all were here for the upcoming battle.

Dressed in the heavy armor set of standard Warden uniform, Alistair tried to ignore the commotion around him. Between two sets of crumbling stone pillars and under the warmth of the midday sun, he had found his own little place of respite. It was far from being quiet here, and yet it was a vast improvement from the boisterous volume of the main Warden camp. Besides, he needed time away from them to lick his wounds, or more like his wounded _pride_. His fellow Warden – a gruff city elf from Gwaren named Deyron – had sent him down on his ass more times during their long sparring match than he cared to count.

Damn these weaselly, dexterous rogues with their stabbing knives and daggers everywhere! They already had one weapon more than him to stab someone with, so, to even out the chances, they should at least be forced to slow down during a fight. Of course, no one had told Deyron that before their match. The elf, despite being half his height, had bestowed upon him a beautiful collection of _arse bruises_, which would turn a simple task such as sitting down into a painful ordeal for the next couple of days. Alistair snorted, wryly amused at his own predicament. After all, the sparring match had been his idea to begin with, to work on the shortcomings of his training he still needed to iron out. Especially when it came to facing dual-wielding, stabby rogues, which had turned out just as well as he'd thought in the end. At least killing darkspawn would be more forward in the upcoming battle - or so he hoped.

"Hey, doll."

Speaking of stabby rogues, one of them stood propped against the adjutant wall, his body turned toward the unfortunate female soldier next to him. Daveth was one of the recruits Duncan had found earlier, though Alistair wasn't quite sure what his mentor had seen in him. It couldn't have been his smug sense of superiority nor his lack of respect for women, that was certain.

"Wanna release some tension before the battle?"

As far across the area as they were from where he sat, Alistair couldn't see the woman's expression. If she was cringing even half as hard as he was at Daveth's words, this conversation wouldn't last long.

"Oh yes, sure," she said. Her ensuing laughter was bright, friendly.

Wait, what? Alistair blinked. That… _worked _? He'd never understand women – _oh_. Still reeling from the unexpected turn of events, he nearly missed the resounding slap Daveth received.

"Thank you. I feel much less tense already," he heard the woman say as she turned around and stormed away, leaving a dumbfounded Daveth behind.

Shit. He shouldn't laugh, he really _really_ shouldn't - especially since his aptitude for flirting was virtually non-existent. Alistair coughed to stifle said laugh and hid his grin behind a hand - with questionable success. The female soldier had stormed off toward his general direction. When she passed Alistair, within his secluded spot, their eyes met. Noticing his amusement, she smiled at him.

Alistair sputtered as he quickly glanced away, the heat rising in his cheeks. Still fixating on the ground, he took several stabilizing breaths, peeved with his inability to even _look _at a woman without turning into a beet-red, bumbling idiot. _Maker, would this ever get easier? _

Lost in thought as he was, he didn't notice the hulking figure approaching him. Only as the person blocked out the sun with their sheer mass, he blinked up at them, recognizing his fellow Warden. "Oh hi, Junan. Nice of you to worry that I don't get sunburned. You know, my skin is so _sensitive_."

The bulky man raised one black, bushy eyebrow. "Makes sense for you to sit in the midday sun, then."

"Oh, that," Alistair replied in the same snarky tone. "Yes, I was hoping to develop a tan before the battle to look good, but alas..." Leaving the sentence hanging, he pointed at his naturally brown skin.

That elicited a deep chuckle out of the paler man. "What are you doing here, Junior?"

Maker, how he hated that nickname. With a bit of luck he could it finally pass on to the other recruits soon. "Enjoying the sun, until you came along, obviously." Alistair shot him a crooked grin and made a nod toward where Daveth stood. "Also watching the recruits, as is my task as junior member of the Order."

Junan's green eyes flitted over to the momentarily miserable rogue and quickly grasped the situation. "Maker's breath, he tried it again?"

"Yes." The laugh Alistair had suppressed before escaped his throat now. He shrugged a bit. "I'm not sure what Duncan saw in him, to be honest."

"You tell me, Junior. The first time the guy was in our camp he'd tried to pickpocket me."

"What?" Alistair looked up at him, eyes wide. "And still you haven't ripped him apart with your bare hands. Wonders never cease."

"Only because I respect the commander's decision too much and need my strength for the upcoming battle." Junan sighed and drove a large hand through his short-cropped dark hair. "But at least he isn't as stuck up as that knight, Jory. If I have to hear about his wife one more time..."

"Oh, jealous, are we?"

He snorted. "Hardly. Nothing wrong with seeking fleeting diversion, but attachments like that are only a hindrance to who we are and what we do, you know?"

"Yeah..." Alistair agreed, but his heart wasn't in it. Not that he minded when his Grey Warden brothers sought out, well, _temporary company_, but it simply wasn't something for him. With this life, it was probably foolish to hope for something… deeper than that, though he couldn't help hoping anyway. "Wait." He narrowed his eyes at the involuntary shade provider next to him. "Didn't you have a girl in Denerim?"

"One?" Junan laughed. "Please. One woman is not enough to handle..." He made a sweeping motion over his armored, muscular frame. "... all this."

"Alright." Alistair let his head fall into his gloved hand with a groan. "Forget I asked."

"However, I'm not an ass and am upfront with the girl about it. So she knows exactly what she is agreeing to when-"

"I get it, okay." His tone was harsher than intended, which only added to the new blush spreading across his face. "Spare me the details."

"Whoa, no need to get so defensive, Junior. After all, you asked me, remember?"

Alistair's anger deflated with a sigh. "I know, sorry. It is just-"

"Did Benson and Pirian tease you again for what happened in Denerim?" Junan exhaled with a shake of his head. "Maker, they act as if they were never your age and inexperienced. I told them to drop it, since it is your choice whether or not to spend the night -"

"Yes, I _remember_." How could he forgot the night where his fellow Wardens lured him into the Pearl under false pretenses? Fade take him, he didn't even know what that place was before. Sure, they had… odd decoration for a tavern, and the women sitting at their table seemed especially fixated on complimenting his appearance. As soon as his fellow Wardens confessed their plan to hook him up with one of them and told him what this place really was (no broth there, none at all), Alistair had bolted into the night, red-faced. The humiliation of the whole situation still gave him nightmares. Well, that _and _darkspawn.

"I think that, in their own twisted way, they wanted to give you a treat before we had to leave for Ostagar."

Alistair shifted in his stony seat, which only served to remind him of all the bruises forming on his backside. "Um, yeah. I'd prefer a book or a plate of cheese then, instead, thank you very much. Or those tiny Orlesian sweets packed in colorful wraps? I would have taken those too." He frowned at him. "But gifting a woman like a piece of meat? That is all kinds of wrong!"

"The possibility to spend the night with her, not the woman herself, more like." Junan halted with a shudder as a harsh gust of wind hit his pale skin. Ah, yes, Ferelden's legendary brisk weather in action, even in the late summer. Wonderful. High above a vast, stretching forest and close to the Korcari Wilds as they were, the air changed constantly between cold and stuffy. Especially the nights could be uncomfortable and nigh frigid with the howling of the wind in between the cracked stones of the ruins. "Look, Alistair," Junan said, patting him on the shoulder. "No one expects you to run after everything with two legs and tits like Daveth does. That is simply not you..."

"Oh, thank you for your vote of confidence."

"... But if you never even try to talk to women, you'll never find out what you like," Junan finished, despite the sarcastic interruption.

"Oooor maybe there are simply more important things going on right now than my non-existing success with women. Like… oh, I don't know, the upcoming battle against the darkspawn horde approaching Ostagar? And all the talk about it being a Blight?"

"Right." He audibly exhaled. "Back to business, then?"

"I'd prefer that, to be honest," Alistair nodded. "I will still have enough time to make an ass out of myself in between killing darkspawn, don't you worry." He made a face. "Besides, I already had my fair share of _that _today."

"You mean your sparring match against Deyron?"

"More like the fail thereof."

"Is that why you are out here instead back at camp?" Junan laughed out, then shrugged with his broad shoulders. "Don't be so hard on yourself, Junior. That guy is _vicious _with his blades. Even took me a few years to best him, so you still got a lot of time to do so - and get better when facing dual wielding rogues. You are young, and you are a fast learner. You will get there, believe me."

"Somehow you sound much more like Duncan than six years my senior right now..." Alistair grinned at his fellow Warden, actually relieved and pleased to be hearing encouragements instead of being teased, for once. While it was all done in a friendly, companionable way by his fellow Wardens, and not at all viciously like some boys did it back in Redcliffe or in the Chantry, it could still be grating at times. "But thanks. Speaking of him, have you heard anything about when Duncan will return from recruiting, well, the third recruit?"

"You mean… like a letter?" Mirroring his grin, Junan produced a folded document out of the small satchel at his belt. "Just came with the king's raven an hour ago. It is the reason I went searching for you, actually. I knew you could use some good news after the sparring gone wrong."

"Aww, you are too good to me..." Showing him a genuine smile, Alistair took the proffered letter to read it, feeling nearly giddy at the prospect. Unfolding it, he saw that Duncan's otherwise clear handwriting was scrawled, the words brief and choppy as if hastily written down. Not only was that odd, but he had obviously also changed his plans. He frowned up at Junan. "Didn't Duncan want to return to Highever or Denerim to search for another recruit?"

"Yes, I think so." His fellow Warden nodded and tilted his head. "Odd that he got stuck halfway in the Brecilian Forest, of all places, huh?"

"There is something written about a 'tainted mirror' he'd found in a cave, but he doesn't elaborate on that. Only that a Dalish hunter from a nearby clan got in contact with it." Alistair's frown deepened. "Huh, didn't know that mirrors could contain the taint. Or any other random object, for that matter. Is this going to be a thing now?" He grimaced. "Please say no."

Junan heaved his shoulders in a shrug. His massive armor creaked with the motion. "In all my years of being a Warden, I have never heard of such a thing. Must be Tevinter then, because, you know, all the bad shit originates from there."

"At least that is what the Chantry tells us," Alistair remarked offhandedly, his tone wry.

He grinned at him. "Well, you tell me. After all, you are the expert here, templar boy."

"Ugh, don't remind me. Six months later and I can still sometimes hear the Grand Cleric yelling in my ear. To this day, I still wonder how Duncan and I left her study in one piece." He focused back on the letter. "It also says that we should prepare the Joining, so it can start almost immediately after their return." Stopping his eyes wandered over the last written part again. "Wait… _their _return? Does that mean..."

"... the third recruit is Dalish?" Junan finished in his stead. "Yes, though if the mirror was indeed tainted and the hunter came in contact with it-"

"... then he is already tainted?" It would explain why Duncan wanted to conduct the Joining right away. "How can the hunter survive the entire way back?"

He snorted. "How the fuck should I know, Junior? I'm not exactly what you would call an expert regarding the Dalish. Though if the hunter arrives here, still standing on two feet after the forced march back, I say he has a good chance..." Leaning in, he lowered his voice. "... to also survive the Joining."

"Yeah..." Alistair uttered, lost in thought. The memory of his own Joining was still very fresh and vivid in his mind, and it wasn't something he relished remembering. Sure, it did mark the beginning of his new life, complete with freedom from the Chantry, yet he would have gladly missed watching how one of the recruits choked to death upon drinking the darkspawn blood. Maybe the Dalish would be luckier. After all, if the hunter could survive days of forced marching while being tainted, it meant he possessed a great deal of willpower and constitution. "I guess you are right."

"Of course I am." His bellowing laugh nearly got swallowed by the increasing noise of the people scurrying around them. Suddenly, the wind picked up, causing Alistair to shiver with its briskness. It howled in between the brittle stone and added to the overall volume of the area. "As for the Joining, Warden Constable Gable is dealing with the preparations. As soon as he's pulled the stick out of his ass far enough to be able to walk over to the mage encampment, that is. You know how he is." Junan shuddered, though the wind nor cold were the cause.

Right, that man was even more by-the-book than the most pious people back at the monastery. Nor had he any inkling what the word humor even meant. Needless to say, he and Alistair didn't exactly... get along well. All the more a reason to hope for Duncan's swift return, then. "At least you didn't try to argue or joke with him. Maker, I really thought he would wiggle his finger and turn me in a toad when I talked back to him yesterday."

Junan made a face. "Bad idea, Junior. Unless you like hours-long lectures about duty."

"Yeah, I already had ten years of that before the Wardens. So, no, thanks."

"Right." Junan shuffled on his feet, seeming eager to get moving. "Wanna go back to our camp and grab a bite to eat, then?"

Alistair hesitated, uncertain if he wanted to return there just yet. Then again, the king's troops' midday drill had just started not far from him, filling his respite with the noisy sound of clatter of armor and shouts. "Okay. What about… him, though?" He asked and pointed at Daveth.

"Eh, he can get his own food, as soon he is done… doing his thing." Huffing, he leaned in toward Alistair with a slight grin. "I have the feeling that if the Joining doesn't kill him, one of the women here will, for sure."

"That's… reassuring," Alistair quipped and stood up to roll his shoulders. He disliked the faint strain in his muscles and only hoped it wouldn't develop into a full ache later on. Remembering he still held the letter in his hands, he folded it and offered it back to his fellow Warden.

"Ah, no, keep it, Junior." When Alistair was ready to leave, Junan turned to him, chuckling. "I took it when Gable wasn't looking."

"Greeeaaat," he drawled in a sarcastic tone, steering toward their enclosed camp in the southern area of Ostagar with Junan in tow. "Whatever could go wrong with that, I wonder? Just so you know, if he tries to turn me into a toad for this, I'll duck and cover _behind _you."

.

.

* * *

.

It took four more days to hear word of Duncan again. A scout had sighted him and the recruit at the outer perimeter of the Wilds, which meant he would arrive in an hour or two.

"That is good news, indeed. And about time as well, since I can feel the darkspawn closing in." Standing straight, Gable nodded sternly at the even smaller elf in front of him. "Tell the mages to prepare for the Joining. I will aid them in their task as soon as I am able."

The scout, a spindly archer, gaped at the Warden Constable for a brief moment before backing away. "R-right away, ser."

Then, Gable's gaze fell on Alistair, and he felt like shrinking under his hard stare. What the lanky elven mage lacked in height and stature he certainly evened out tenfold with his authoritative demeanor. "Alistair, go inform the king's encampment of the Commander's impending return."

"Now?" He asked, despite knowing better, and pointed to his plate filled with food. Suddenly, the popping and crackle of the campfire nearby became very loud in his ears. His fellow Wardens had stopped their chatter and instead stared at him. Everyone knew it was better not to argue with Gable, but his growling, empty stomach had momentarily overruled Alistair's sense of duty. And his sense of danger, for that matter. "Can I finish eating, at least?"

Narrowing his eyes at him, Gable made a tiny, annoyed sound at the back of his throat. "Did I not make myself clear enough?"

Right, so much for breakfast. Letting his fork clatter on the plate, Alistair stood up and put the food down. "Fine. But my breakfast better still be there when I return. I get so cranky when I am hungry, and you won't like me then."

Gable's groan made apparent that he didn't like him either way, but he tried to ignore this fact. Like the one that he'd have come face to face with Cailan to deliver the message, which was generally something he tried to avoid. Someone might get a wrong idea when seeing them side by side - or rather, the unfortunate _right _one. Despite being glad about hearing of Duncan's return, the prospect of meeting his estranged… What? Brother? Half-brother? … Managed to sour his mood nonetheless.

_No_. Alistair shook his head as he walked past the large sickbay, too occupied with his thoughts to notice the pained ramblings of the soldiers there. The term 'brother' was reserved for his fellow Wardens, because they were his family and cared for him, despite having known him for only half a year. Cailan, however, did not, nor did Alistair expect him to. There was no need to complicate matters by stepping into the king's life now. Being a Warden was what Alistair wanted, had chosen and was actually good at. Duncan said he was worthy of it joining the order, and that was all that mattered. For the first time in his life, he felt as if he belonged somewhere, and he was finally able to make his peace with the past and his heritage.

Turning the corner, he decided to take the longer way, past the ash warriors and the Mabari kennels. Alistair knew it would do little to postpone the inevitable, yet found himself adapting a slower pace. He wrinkled his nose as the wind turned and the reek of wet dog lashed out at him. As a Fereldan, he was not supposed to be bothered by it, but it also brought up childhood memories he wasn't exactly fond of. Despite his intention to dawdle, he walked faster again to pass the kennels and the memories associated with them. In the center area, a priestess held an impromptu mass for a group of soldiers. Jory was among them. Recognizing Alistair, the stout man waved to him, and he acknowledged the Warden recruit with a nod and a wan smile.

He wasn't exactly distant to him or Daveth, and had even trained with both many times over the past weeks, listened to their stories at the camp fire. It was his task as the junior member of the order to take care of them, yet was there a difference between them and his fellow Wardens. Maybe this was because Alistair had known them just for a few weeks, or perhaps this difference existed because they might still… die. He didn't want to think about that, or the impending battle against a massive darkspawn horde. Both would become inevitable in a short while, however.

Just as him arriving at the king's tent was. Stopping in front of it, Alistair gaped at its size. A garish mix of gold and crimson - the colors of the family regnant - it was at least five times larger than than his own. On its entrance, two deep red Mabaris facing each other were embroidered into the closed tent flaps. Alistair recognized the symbols as part of Ferelden's coat of arms. He was surprised to notice the absence of the otherwise omnipresent guard in front of it. Inwardly, he sighed. So much for relaying the message to someone else.

He wasn't quite sure how to proceed - nor if he even wanted to. No, that he didn't want to _was _quite apparent, but still - what to do now? He couldn't just waltz in there, and neither could one just… knock on a tent. He shuffled on his feet and had to force himself to not turn around and run the other way. This had been a bad, _baaad _idea from the start. The tent flap opened before Alistair could sink further into his misery. Steel blue eyes belonging to the Teyrn fixed on him as soon Loghain had stepped out of the tent.

"What do you want?" His voice was gruff, and its sharpness nearly made him jump.

Alistair cleared his throat in an attempt to reign in his nerves and swallowed audibly. The insides of his mouth had turned dry as dust. "I… came to deliver a message." Loghain showed no reaction. His presence loomed large, and it wasn't due to the massive silverite armor he wore. In another situation, Alistair would have been delighted to meet the Hero of River Dane, of all people, but now it only felt… intimidating.

Loghain continued to stare him down for another, torturous moment, before his assessing eyes narrowed. "You are that Warden, right?"

_What, did my uniform give me away? _Since he liked to be alive, Alistair bit his tongue to keep this quip from escaping. "Yes...?" he only said instead, unsure.

The Teyrn tilted his head, glowering. "Whatever business could _you _have with the King? Haven't your order done enough already, putting these idle fantasies into the King's head?"

Alistair was at a loss for words, which didn't happen often. Shocked to be yelled at for no reason, he only gaped dumbly at the man.

"Now, now, Loghain. No need to be rude." Cailan's blond head appeared between the tent's flaps. "My father didn't allow the Wardens back into Ferelden so that you could yell at them. They are here at my behest and are to be seen as equal to the crown for the battle."

"As you wish, Your Majesty," Loghain sighed. Every bit of his posture said that he was loathe to back down. It was no surprise, then, when he turned a final time before walking away with his guard in tow. "But perhaps you are putting too much faith in these Wardens, Your Majesty."

Cailan didn't reply and waited until Loghain was out of sight. His attention shifted over to Alistair, and his open and friendly expression brightened further. "Ho there, friend." Alistair winced at being addressed by… him. "Come on in."

Blinking blankly at the king, he mentally spurred himself into replying. "Oh, no. No. That won't be necessary, er, Your Majesty."

Hearing that, Cailan stepped out of his tent and closer to him. He was half a head shorter than himself and paler, Alistair distantly noted. The king smiled and made a polite but assertive sweeping motion toward the tent. "I insist, Warden. I heard you have a message for me. Such things are better not to be discussed out here in the open."

Well, shit. Even if he wanted to, he couldn't just turn and bolt from the literal King of Ferelden. And if he did, Gable would kill him with a snap of his fingers for failing to follow his orders. Twitchy, angry mages? Never good. Feeling like he was being thrown into a hungry horde of darkspawn without a weapon, Alistair ducked into the tent with the King following suit. His… half-brother. He tried really hard not to think about that fact and failed in the attempt.

Cailan gently pushed past him while he busied himself marveling at the sheer space and luxury the insides of his tent provided. It was probably not comparable to the King's palace in Denerim, he imagined, but it had a high pallet draped in satin and fur coverlets, and some carved, wooden furniture. Flowing, light silk drapes and heraldry in the royal colors adorned the thin walls and ceiling and somehow stayed in place there. Carefully rolled maps and parchments were stored at the far end of the tent, while a few were still strewn about on the table in its center.

The creaking of armor snapped Alistair back to attention. Cailan rolled his shoulders and grimaced. "Maker, how do you wear this heavy armor all day, Warden?"

He shuffled on his feet, flustered. "I'm… used to it, Your Majesty. Years of training and all that."

"Ah." The King smiled. "But of course. The Wardens recruit only the best, so that makes sense." Walking over to the small shelf serving as a cabinet, he uncorked a crystalline decanter and gave it a whiff before filling his glass half-full with red wine. "I'm aware appearance matters greatly as a king, for it raises morale in camp. Which is why I have to wear this blasted armor all day." He turned, motioning for Alistair to sit down in an upholstered chair in the corner.

"I… um, would remain standing, if that is, er, okay… Your Majesty." Unlike his own cramped tent, Cailan's was spacious enough in height that he actually could stand comfortably here.

"Suit yourself." Shrugging a bit, Cailan plopped himself down on his lavish bed and took a sip of his wine. He relaxed his posture, as far as his heavy, golden-plated armor allowed him to do so. With a sigh, he released the remaining tension within and looked up at him. "What is your name, Warden?"

He blinked, but remembered to answer him shortly after. "... Alistair, Your Majesty."

"Alistair, huh?" The King mused over that for a moment and made an odd sound at the back of his throat. "A good name. A strong name. Besides… Cailan is enough within these walls. Thin as they may be."

"I..." Alistair felt dread sinking into his stomach, leaden like iron. Maker's breath, the King _knew _who he was. There was no doubt left now. And how could he not? Looking at Cailan was like looking in a mirror and seeing a blonder, paler version of himself. "I'm expected to report back soon," he managed. A white lie, though much better than giving into the strong impulse to storm out of here and run into the Korcari Wilds, never to return.

"Hmm," Cailan hummed, swirling the contents of his glass around. "I see. I won't keep you long then, Alistair." His eyes meet his own and locked on, deep blue contrasting with hazel. The corners of his mouth twitched. "But you still haven't told me the message you're meant to deliver, you know?"

"Right." Alistair let out a breath and pressed his hands to his sides to stop them from shaking. "Duncan, our Warden Commander, has been sighted in the outer bounds of the Korcari Wilds. He is expected to return to Ostagar in about an hour or two."

Cailan laughed brightly. "Oh, these are fantastic news indeed. So we can fight side by side in the battle tomorrow, after all. Glorious. I was beginning to worry he'd miss out on all the fun."

"Fun?" Alistair's eyebrows shot up. He'd only faced darkspawn once so far, and there was _nothing _fun about that.

"Oh, you must think me a fool, Alistair," he said, equally good-natured, shaking his head. "But I truly believe we can stop the darkspawn here once and for all." He smiled at him. "Together."

Alistair forced himself to smile back, yet felt his eyebrows creasing to a frown. No, fool would be too harsh a word to describe his notion. A bit _too _optimistic, perhaps. Maker knew they would need Loghain's tactical expertise to make a difference in the battle. "No, I don't think you are, er, sire. C-cailan. Fun is just the last very thing that comes to my mind regarding darkspawn and a possible Blight."

"I'm not even sure if this is a true Blight at all. There are plenty darkspawn in the field, but, alas, there have been no signs of an archdemon so far."

"Yeah, such pity, that," he muttered under his breath and coughed to cover up his words.

"I was simply hoping for a war like in the tales." Cailan sighed, sounding _way _too enthusiastic about the matter. "A king riding side by side with the fabled Grey Wardens against a tainted god… but I suppose this will have to do."

Alistair's eyebrows jumped up again, as he stared at the king. How was he supposed to react to that? Sarcasm? Honesty? At a loss for… anything, he stayed silent. Well… _most _of him did, anyway. As the silence stretched between them, his treacherous stomach decided to rumble its protest regarding the severe lack of food so far. Loudly. Great, this wasn't awkward at all.

Cailan chuckled at that. "You haven't eaten yet, Alistair?"

He wanted the Maker to strike him down this instant. "N-no?"

"Then come, stay. I happened to miss out on breakfast too, due to Loghain boring me with his strategy all morning."

"I couldn't possibly-"

"Yes, you can." Standing up, he ducked halfway out of the tent to order his guards to bring two servings of breakfast. _Oh _. Returning, he motioned Alistair to follow him. "Come, sit with me, Alistair. You haven't told me yet if Duncan has managed to find another recruit, or where you got your weapon training from. I am always eager to hear stories of the Grey Wardens."

"I… Fine." Realizing quickly that he had no choice but to comply, Alistair slinked after his in more than one way strange half-brother of a king. Suddenly, getting turned into a toad by Gable seemed _way _more favorable a prospect than… this.

.

.

* * *

.

"Where have you been for so long?"

Alistair had returned to the Warden encampment after the most awkward breakfast of his life only to get yelled at by Gable. This day just kept getting better and better.

_Dining with the king whilst answering all kind of invasive questions about my life. _Alistair was certain this reply would go over perfectly with the Warden Constable, even if it was the truth. He could practically taste the electric currents Gable was about to shock him with. "The king had quite a few… additional questions," he said instead, settling for a half-truth. "I can hardly deny a royal request, can I?" Ugh, again with the challenging tone. When would he learn _not _to do that?

Gable's dark eyes glinted with anger, his already thin lips pressed in an even finer line. His sharp intake of air, a preparation to launch the tirade he must have been planning for the entire hour Alistair was gone was interrupted by an elderly woman appearing before him. Alistair blinked at the displaced guest in their midst, but more so at the chantry attire she wore. Long grey hair meticulously tucked into a bun, the woman placed her hands on her hips. With a proud, unyielding poise, her stern gaze focused on Gable. "Are you the one in command here?"

It was rare to see a hard-headed person like Gable falter, least of all struggle for words. Even more rare was to see his behavior mirrored in another. Getting no answer, or not getting one quickly enough for her taste, she whirled around to face Alistair. _Uh-oh._ "You!"

He winced at the force of her voice, suddenly feeling fifteen and back at the chantry again, about to be scolded. Alistair stood up straighter to show confidence that he definitely didn't feel. "Y-yes?"

"I need you to find Uldred, the mage leader here in Ostagar, and tell him that I require his presence."

His mouth once again ran more quickly than his brain did. "And you can't do this yourself? You need a _Grey Warden _for this?" As soon the words were spoken aloud, he winced again. One day this would be his undoing, for sure.

Despite being significantly shorter than he was, the woman still had no problem staring him down. Coming closer, she poked his armored chest, her voice clipped and demanding. "As the Revered Mother, young man, I have no time to spare to run after mages. And the reason he must come see me is in the interest of your order as well. Otherwise, I would have gone to the next servant to see it done."

Alistair backed away from her and nearly tumbled into a tent. Stabilizing himself, he resigned with a sigh. "Fine, Your Reverence." What was it with today and people with titles ordering him around and sending him on errands? "I'll see if I can find him."

"No." The Revered Mother shook her head and glared at him. "You _will _find him. Not maybe, not if. Ask the mage camp where he is. I'm certain they will provide you with information on his whereabouts." She pushed past the throng of men that had crept closer to the spectacle as it unfolded and left without another look at Alistair or Gable.

Great. Walking into a camp full of mages. After the awkward hour spent with his half-brother, the King, this would be just another highlight in Alistair's day. Well, at least when enduring the most stilted family reunion ever, there had been food, and lots of it. So, if he was going to be killed by the mage leader due to his templar background, he wouldn't have to die on an empty stomach.

At least there was that silver lining.

.

.

* * *

.

Though he never had been there, the mage encampment in Ostagar was easy to find. Alistair simply needed to follow the trail of grim-looking templars and people in garish robes. Finding someone willing to speak to him was another matter, however.

The templars there eyed him as distrustfully as if he were a mage, and the mages looked at him as if they knew of his templar training by appearance alone. They did their best to either ignore or gossip about the displaced visitor in their midst. Alistair had last felt _this _uncomfortable while dining with his half-brother. He had neither been keen nor expecting to relive this experience so quickly. Then again, discomfort seemed to be his theme for the day. Wonderful. Walking past yet another giggling pair of young women watching him, he saw an elderly woman seated on a log near their campfire. Unlike the Revered Mother, she had no hard edges, and appeared downright… grandmotherly in comparison. Absorbed as she was in the book she was reading, she only noticed his approach when he was nearly standing in front of her.

Blue eyes blinked up at him and her gray eyebrow shot up, amused. "Are you lost, young man? This is not the Warden encampment, in case you have forgotten that."

"Um," Alistair winced, not having been expecting to be _teased _by her, of all the people here. Maybe she wasn't so grandmotherly, after all.

Putting her book aside and smoothing out the wrinkles of her red robe with her hands, the mage chuckled. "But where are my manners? Can I help you… um?"

"Alistair," he said, relieved to find her more agreeable to speak with him.

"Nice to meet you, Warden." She nodded, a small smile on her lips."My name is Wynne. I am the Senior Enchanter of Ferelden's Circle. What do you need of the mages? If this is about the Joining then..."

"No, no," Alistair rushed to correct her. He let out a shaky breath before continuing to speak. Despite her… mellow appearance, talking to mages always made him nervous. "But I'm searching for a fellow… colleague of yours, I guess?"

"Oh? This is a rather particular request, then. Yet I am certain I will be able to help you."

"I hope so, since the other mages won't stop glaring or… giggling." He cleared his throat, feeling the blush creeping back into his cheeks again. "I need to find Uldred for the Revered Mother. Can you tell me where he is and how he, well, looks?"

"Uldred?" Wynne said flatly, and her smile vanished. "Ah, our ambitious leader, yes." With the way she spoke these words, it sounded far more like disdain than admiration. "He is not present in camp right now, I fear. However, you will most likely find him to the east, up the ramp and into the secluded area of Ostagar, where your order wanted the Joining to be prepared. He is aiding with the last preparations there, as far as I am aware."

Alistair's face brightened. He knew exactly what place she meant and felt eager to get there before the mage could leave there again. "Thank you… Wynne. You saved me a lot of time with that information."

"Not a problem at all, young man." Nodding, her lips curved upwards again, as she added, "as for his appearance, simply keep your eyes peeled for a human man looking astonishingly akin to a rat or a weasel. Just without any fur."

"Err… okay?" While it wasn't his place to comment on the obvious dislike between them, he laughed at that. "Thank you again." With that, he turned and left in the direction Wynne had described.

.

**::::::::**

.

Alistair found Uldred quickly after that, thanks to Wynne's words and colorful description.

Walking up the ramp, the secluded area was larger than he remembered it to be. Sunlight flooded its aged, white stone floor and the tall pillars encasing the place etched their shadows into the ground. The mage had his back turned to him and seemed to be too busy with sorting items on a stone slab to notice him.

However, Alistair was far from being short and thus his large shadow falling onto the mage give his approach away. "What is it now? Haven't the Grey Wardens asked more than enough of the Circle?" His voice was cold, annoyed. Through its nasal tone, it also had a somewhat grating note.

"Huh?" Alistair mused, carefully stepping closer to the man's lean back. "How did you know that I'm a Warden?"

"Because it is _always _your order that demands more!" As Uldred turned around, he had to confess that Wynne hadn't been exaggerating about his looks earlier. He did share a certain resemblance to said animals, wizened and, well, weaselly, as he looked. However, underneath the hard lines of his scowl was an unmistakable intelligence. More importantly, Alistair's templar-trained senses screamed with the abundance of his magic. He felt a sudden intense flight or fight response and had to mentally will himself to stay in place. Uldred scoffed at his inaction. "Did you simply come up here to stare at me, Warden?"

"No, actually," Alistair put his chin up and felt himself revert back to the familiar pattern of sarcasm. In any given situation, whether humorous or not - _especially_ when not - this was his first weapon of choice. "I came here to deliver a message, ser mage." Uldred raised a thin, questioning eyebrow, waiting for him to elaborate. Alistair hesitated, fully aware of the impact his words would have. He liked being human and not a frog, after all. "The Revered Mother desires your presence."

The effect was almost immediate. Uldred's face twisted in disgust. "What her Reverence 'desires' is no concern of mine. I am busy helping the Grey Wardens — by your order's request, I might add," he yelled into his face before waving him off.

The dismissal annoyed Alistair more than it angered him, causing his tone to grow even more sardonic. "Should I have asked her to write a note?" He asked, knowing full well how challenging it sounded. Alistair idly wondered if he would live to see the end of this day in human form, but a huge defiant part of him simply didn't care.

"Tell her I will not be harassed in this manner."

_What? _His eyes narrowed on the man, not backing down from this odd spiral of escalation. It was too late for that, anyway. "Yes, how rude of me. I was harassing you by delivering a message." Behind him, Alistair could hear light-footed steps and became aware of the presence of yet another person being here. Which was odd, too, since this area was normally closed off to servants. For the moment, he was too focused on this stubborn and infuriating mage in front of him to check the person's identity, however.

"Your glibness does you no credit," Uldred spat, clearly at the fringes of his patience.

"Aww..."_Maker, Alistair what are you doing? _a small voice in his head warned him, but still he could not help but rile the mage even more. "... and here I thought we were getting along so well. I was even going to name one of my children after you… the _grumpy_ one."

There was a long-drawn annoyed groan from the person behind him, sounding distinctively… feminine? Before he had time to turn, the mage spoke up again, with finality. "Enough! I will speak to the woman if I must." Uldred darted forward and shoved him aside. "Out of my way, fool!"

And then he was gone, finally giving Alistair a chance to quench his curiosity about the person looming at his back. Silly as it was, he felt victorious about having managed to fulfill this task. The sour-faced mage would now seek out the Revered Mother, despite all his reluctance and stubbornness. A large grin tugged at his lips as he slowly turned around to, well, _her_, he guessed. "You know one good thing about the Blight is -" Alistair froze, in both words and motion, and _stared_.

The person, an elven woman, stared back at him, equally silent, but also… challenging. There was blood in her long blond hair, Alistair distantly noted. Dark blood that sang to his veins and reeked of taint. Some of it covered her pale, freckled cheeks as well. What had instantly forced him into silence, however, had been her eyes and the way she looked at him. Maker, the color of her eyes must have been the deepest green he'd ever seen. More than that, her gaze was perceptive and keen, and Alistair felt himself shrinking under its sharpness. This woman was no fool, that much was already obvious. Nor a servant, either. That was impossible with the proud, unyielding way she bore herself in front of him, gloved hands held at her sides. Clad in leather armor tinted forest green, two long and curved daggers were belted at her hips. Oh. His gaze flicked to her forehead, recognizing the golden-brown swirling lines of a tattoo underneath the blood.

_Oh. _

The recruit. The Dalish… was a woman. Alistair swallowed thickly. Not that he minded, far from it. It was just _so _not what he'd expected when reading Duncan's letter. She was simply so… little ? Okay, maybe not _that _little, seeing as her head reached up to his chest. And while she was slender, as elves usually were, she obviously had a toned… figure, which spoke of regular training. Maker's breath, did he really stare at her figure just now? She must think him a drooling lecher. He mentally kicked himself into action to end this weird… impasse. "- how it brings people together," was all he managed, however, before falling silent again.

Her eyes narrowed, and she started to _glare _instead of stare at him. It made him want to run away, dig a hole and never come out again. Without breaking eye contact, she wiped impatiently at the sweat and blood on her forehead with the back of her hand, only to spread its smear further. She let out an annoyed sigh and swayed a little on her feet. She was also breathing audibly now, a harsh rhythm of in- and outtakes of air.

He suddenly remembered what Duncan had written about the Dalish hunter already being tainted and felt like kicking himself. _Again_. The blood on her body wasn't what sang to him, it was the blood _in _her body that did. He could feel her taint and it was jarring… To say the least. He took a step toward to her. "Are you -"

"Are you an idiot?" She cut into his words and passed out right after.

.

.

* * *

**Change Notes:**

_Um, everything? This is a complete newly written chapter from the scratch, shifting the focus away from Lenya and toward Ostagar, because this is where the plot takes place, after all. Also I wanted to write the first chapter from Alistair's pov since ages and thus I seized the chance for a(n already) more solid characterization than what I did in the starting chapters of the original. The next chapter will be (mainly) told from Lenya's pov, so we will finally get to know her better ;)_

_Reviews are most appreciated._


	2. Tainted

**A/N****: **_This chapter had been originally written and published on Ao3 in September 2017. If you want to see the up-to-date version of this story, come find me on Ao3 under the same nickname (Merilsell) and story name (Of Elves And Humans: Redux). Enjoy?_

* * *

.

**Chapter 2: Tainted**

.

Alistair had often heard of women swooning at men's feet, even imagined what it would be like if it happened to him. This, however, was _not_ like his imaginings.

He caught the Dalish before she could hit the ground; he now stood, helpless and alone, in the most secluded part of Ostagar, with the woman who had called him an idiot half-propped in his arms.

This day kept on giving its all to ensure he had the _worst_ possible time.

"Um..." He looked down at her and noticed how heated her face looked. Underneath the grime and blood, her cheeks had adapted an unnatural redness that indicated fever. Come to think of it, it was a downright miracle that she'd survived as long as she had. And with no visible changes caused by the taint whatsoever. What a... mysterious woman. Alistair shook his head, letting out a self-depreciating snort at the new mess he found himself in. However, before he could wallow in the misery his day had continued to be, he needed to find help for her: a healer, perhaps. It was his job to take care of the Warden recruits, after all, though this was not at all what he'd imagined falling under the terminology of 'taking care'.

Trying not to think too much about it, he lifted her up into his arms and secured her there. Slowly, he walked down the ramp, one gauntleted hand under her knees and the other cradling and stabilizing her head and neck. He was surprised by how... light she was. Regardless, walking with another person in his arms was all but easy. Especially since, once he had returned to the livelier part of Ostagar again, he nearly ran into Benson, of all people.

His fellow Warden stared at him, then at the elven woman in his arms, and back at him. He flashed him a toothy grin. "Oh my, look at you... quite the womanizer after all. No wonder you didn't want to spend the night in the Pearl, then."

"Benson, quit the crap," Alistair snapped at the burly man. "Instead, make yourself useful and go to the mage encampment. Find help. There is an elder mage named Wynne..." He trailed off as his fellow Warden stepped closer to look at the woman in his arms.

"Who is she?"

"This is the Dalish, the third recruit. She is-"

Benson's ginger mustache twitched as he pursed his lips. "... tainted." So he felt it too. Of course he did. At least this caused him to cease his stupid comments and spurred him into action. "Wynne, you said, Junior?" Alistair only nodded numbly and watched him leave, keenly aware of standing in Ostagar's main area with an unconscious woman in his arms.

It didn't take long until someone patted him on the shoulder. Alistair slowly turned around. It was the quartermaster who provided the king's troops with supplies. "What is wrong with her? Did you overwork her? Servants need rest too, you know."

"Excuse me?" Alistair felt himself getting worked up on her behalf. How could someone mistake her for a servant, clad in armor and bloodied as she was? Just because of her pointed ears? He glared at the man for his audacity. "She is a Warden recruit who just came back with Duncan. She must have strained herself too much during the journey, or otherwise she wouldn't have fainted."

"Oh." At least the bald, stocky man had the grace to look ashamed. "My mistake, then."

"Yes," Alistair hissed out between gritted teeth. "_Your_ mistake, indeed."

"Look, I don't want trouble, especially not with your order," the man said, wringing his hands. "So why don't you come with me? You can put her down on my cot, since she... must get heavy?"

Alistair was torn between considering the offer genuine or dubious. Besides, he was much more afraid of tripping and dropping her than of his arms getting tired. Huh, who would have thought that carrying around a gigantic silverite kite shield just about everywhere for years had such useful side-effects? But he was getting side-tracked with trivialities – it was far more important that he got her out the line of all these curious stares until aid arrived. Hopefully soon.

And so he followed the man who more slinked than walked back to his close by merchant stall. The place was still open, but to the side of the main area and therefore offering a bit more privacy. The quartermaster hurried to shuffle a disorderly pile of flasks and documents to the side and waved him toward the cot. "Put her down... here."

Cautiously, Alistair lay the Dalish down on the thin, rough cot next to the wooden cart. From the twist of disgust in his expression, he could see the man already was regretted his generosity. "Wait? Is this... blood?"

Alistair only shrugged."Probably? The Commander and her must have run into darkspawn on their way back, I guess."

His eyes went wide, and he shuddered. "The elf... fought darkspawn, and lived?"

He couldn't help but smile at that. "Well, she _is_ a Warden recruit, after all."

"Right," the quartermaster breathed out. "Sorry about that, by the way. I'm just a bit on edge, with the impending battle and all. And I have sent a worker on an errand hours ago, and the damn elf still hasn't returned."

"Maybe you should have treated your worker better, then," Alistair scoffed under his breath and took off his gauntlets one by one. With a mental note to retrieve them before the man could claim and sell his gear as his own, he put them down next to the cot. Leaning over, he reached out to touch the elf's forehand, but yanked his hand back in the last moment. Alistair inhaled shakily, trying to calm himself by reminding himself that he had done nothing wrong. It was just to check her temperature, after all. Trying anew, he found her skin burning to his touch, causing him to frown. Damn, he could only hope that Benson would return soon with the mage. What was taking them so long, anyway?

Alistair turned to the man, who helplessly hovered at his back. "Do you have any herbs?"

"Herbs?" He blinked. "Yes, all sorts, actually. A group of soldiers brought me back a fresh batch from the Wilds. What do you need?"

"Well..." Alistair trailed off, unsure. He knew of elfroot and its healing properties, of course, but beyond that he'd never paid much attention to botany lessons in the Chantry. It hadn't been the most thrilling topic for his teenage mind, to put it mildly. Now, he regretted his inattention to the topic, since he didn't want ending up poisoning her. "Um, if you have a _clean_..." he stressed this word."... cloth and some cold water, that should be enough."

The stocky man nodded and briefly vanished to retrieve the desired items. Alistair looked down at the blond Dalish once again and frowned. Even more so than of her fever, he was worried about the fact that she was still unconscious, unmoving. To calm himself, he reached out to feel her pulse point, finding it thrumming a quick but steady rhythm underneath his fingertips.

"Here..." Startled at the sudden voice, Alistair yanked his hand back, as though being caught doing something naughty. Trying to curb the blush spreading across his face, he took the cloth and wooden bucket from the man.

Alistair cleared his throat. "Thank you." Dunking the cloth into the water, he began to tentatively wash the dark blood from her face. Maybe he shouldn't do this. It seemed far too invasive being so close to her unconscious form... yet he couldn't do nothing until help arrived. It just never sat well with him, seeing others in pain or need. Alistair also hoped the stark contrast between her heated skin and the cool water would cause her to stir eventually. But the Dalish remained still and sleeping, even as the water in the bucket turned black and her face was clean again – or _cleaner_, at least. Putting the bucket down, he breathed out, his gaze resting on her forehead a moment longer than necessary. With the blood no longer covering the skin there, he could see her whole tattoo. To him, its swirling, intertwined and dark lines looked a bit like... horns? Huh, curious. He wondered what the meaning of-

"There you are!" Hearing Benson's voice, Alistair started, feeling once more like a guilty child.

Of course, his fellow Warden noticed and bestowed upon him a knowing grin. "Already growing fond of the girl, 'eh? The Commander won't like that, Junior."

"I'm not..." Alistair protested, but the elder mage – Wynne- pushing past him interrupted any further words.

"Take your childish quarrel elsewhere, you both," she snapped, before leaning over the elven woman.

"A-aye, ma'am," Benson said, casting his blue eyes downward. Then he leaned in to Alistair and quietly added, "she is a healer, so your girl should be fine."

Alistair's blush seared through his cheeks, and for a minute he thought his face was on fire. "She is not..." he stopped with a sigh and added in a lower, sharper voice, "you are doing this on purpose, aren't you?"

Benson only gave him a casual shrug. "Hey, I wouldn't mind calling her my fellow Warden. There aren't exactly many women around in our order right now, in case you haven't noticed."

He rolled his eyes at him. "Yeah, I bet you would like that."

"Eh, the elven gal seems a bit too young for me though. She is..." His fellow Warden grinned at him. "... much more your age."

"Ugh, you are the worst."

Benson's grin widened. "Yeah, love ya too, Junior."

"Quiet!" Wynne groused, causing Alistair and Benson to whip around to face her. "I need to concentrate."

Suddenly, the air prickled on his skin, making his fine hair stand on end. It was the telltale sign of magic being used. Well, this and the pale blue light which bloomed around the mage's hands, of course.

"M-magic, you are using _magic_?" The quartermaster asked, fear in his voice.

Benson scratched his head, ruffling up a few ginger strands of his long, tied-back hair. "Maybe we better take her to our camp instead?"

"I need to lower her fever first," Wynne told him, pointedly ignoring the other man. "You were right for seeking me out. She is... very ill."

Unbidden, Alistair felt his stomach twisting into way too many knots. "I know. I... felt it. The taint, I mean."

"Yes, I've heard of you Wardens being able to do that." Tilting her head, Wynne hummed quietly, while her magic flared up again. For a long moment, she remained silent as she concentrated on her task. Then, breathing out, she shook her head. "So young, still. I take it that she is Duncan's newest recruit?"

Alistair nodded. "Yes."

"I see. Now I understand his reason for rushing as much as he did to reach Ostagar. Considering how sick she is, it is a miracle she's survived the journey at all. Still..." she clucked her tongue in a disapproving manner. "I might need to have a word with your Commander, since her fever wasn't caused by her sickness alone. It was simply careless to push her so far so quickly in this condition, despite his good intentions." Another wave of healing magic disappeared into the Dalish's body through her hands.

"Will she be okay?" Benson surprised Alistair by speaking what he had been thinking."I mean, at least for now?"

Wynne wiped her brow with the sleeve of her red robe and sighed. "Yes. I managed to lower her fever, but I fear it won't last."

The Wardens shared a look, both well aware how there was now just one thing which could save or ultimately kill her – the Joining. "There is a way," Alistair said, aware of not being able to speak freely, "to, um, _cure_ her of this sickness. You know what I mean, I think." At least he hoped she would, seeing as she had spoken of the Joining before and knew of it, in a general sense.

"Ah, yes." Recognition dawned in her pale, mellow face. "Then it had better happen sooner rather than later. Let's get her into my tent for the moment, so I can keep an eye on her condition." Standing up and stretching her back, Wynne noticed their hesitance to move. "Well, she can hardly stay here, can she? Unless there is a tent already prepared for her in your camp, and you know which it is, of course?"

His fellow Warden smirked at him. "Maybe give her yours then, Alistair?"

He ignored his comment. "Duncan would know, but I have no idea where he is right now. So, err, your tent, then?"

"Good." The mage agreed, and her lips twitched with amusement when Alistair failed to move toward her right after. "What are you waiting for then, young man? You don't expect me to carry her there, do you?"

He blinked, staring blankly at the sleeping woman on the cot, then back at Wynne. "Err, no?"

"Want me to carry her, Junior?"

"No!" He straightened, wiping his hands on the sides of his armor to quell his nerves. "But could you take, um, my gauntlets back to camp, lest the quartermaster sells them for profit. I really don't need any darkspawn gnawing on my unprotected hands. Or worse, have Gable yell at me for not taking care of my equipment."

"Pfft, as if I would do that, Warden," the man retorted in a tone that revealed how he totally would.

"Sure thing, Junior." Benson did as he was told, though of course not without letting a remark follow. "Just remember that you owe me one for all the favors I have done for you today."

"Right... as long it isn't dancing the Remigold..." Alistair muttered, more to himself than the other man. Stepping toward the cot where the Dalish lay, he bent to pick her up. Securing her in his arms, he tried to concentrate on the way ahead instead of the warmth of her underneath his bare hands.

.

.

* * *

.

_Nervously pacing up and down for what felt hours, Lenya finally saw the door of Marethari's Aravel opening, and her keeper and the Warden shemlen stepped outside. Finally. After too long, their talk in private had ended. She rushed to their side, anxious to know what they were going to say._

_"Your Keeper and I have spoken, and we've come to an arrangement that concerns you," the Warden shem – Duncan – announced with a stern nod. "My order is in need of help. You are in need of a cure. When I leave here, I hope you will join me. You would make an excellent Grey Warden."_

_"What?" Dread washed over her like an icy downpour, numbing her limbs as her throat tightened. Tamlen… he… - and now she would be sent away too? No. She would not accept this. She gritted her teeth as she glared up at this shemlen who dared such audacity. "No!" Lenya snapped, and the gloved hands at her sides balled into fists. "I refuse to be sent away with this shem! My place is with the clan!"_

_"I cannot express my sadness at sending one of our daughters off into such danger, away from the clan that loves her." Tears began to form in Marethari's eyes, and she tried to embrace Lenya, but she ducked away. She couldn't stand the contact._

_"Do not coddle me as if I am three years old." Glowering, Lenya blinked angry tears away. "This is serious!"_

_"Yes, da'len, it is." The Keeper nodded calmly at her outburst, which only made her angrier. "Since your life is in danger if you stay, but so are __**all**__ our lives. A great army of darkspawn gathers in the south, and a new Blight threatens the land. We cannot outrun this storm," she told her in the same infuriating calm tone, "if being a Grey Warden is what the Creators intend for you, da'len, meet your destiny with your head held high. No matter where you go, you are Dalish. Never forget that."_

_"No, I would rather die than to leave!" Lenya was faintly aware of clinging to her keeper's arm and the plaintive tone in her voice that sounded far too much like whining. But the panic about losing the one and only home she'd ever known rising inside her made her forget all of her usual pride. "My clan is all I know! Keeper, don't send me away, I beg you!" She couldn't lose them, too. Not after all that had happened._

_Marethari looked at her with tears in her eyes and seemed to hesitate in her insistence. But only a moment later, her expression hardened again as she turned to the shem, nodding. "Do what you must, Duncan."_

_The shem let out a sorrowful sigh, which was nearly lost to the pounding of her heart in her ears. "I hereby invoke the Right of Conscription."_

_"And I, as the Keeper of this clan, acknowledge this Right."_

_"Nooo! Ar din'him sa dorf'len! Ar din'isala ven shem'alas!" Her knees buckled under her weight, and she crashed to the leafed, muddied forest ground. No longer caring to uphold any kind of pretense, Lenya let her head fall into her hands and sobbed._

Crying out, Lenya lurched awake, jostled and disoriented. The first thing she noticed was a warm, mellow hand touching her forehead. "Shht, it is alright, child," a soft voice said next to her, a hand brushing through her hair.

"A-ashalle?" she croaked, her voice rough. Blinking her surroundings into sight, Lenya found herself staring at the dark and thin canvas ceiling of a tent. Memories of what happened and where she was came into her focus next, as much as she wished they wouldn't. Her desperate attempts to escape this Warden shem and run back to her clan had led her here after all. Ostagar. Fighting a shemlen war.

Finding herself lying on some kind of bedding, she sat up and threw the blanket away from herself. The motion of it was too quick, making her head spin. Groaning, she touched her forehead to the ground and give herself some semblance of stability. It didn't help much, other than making her aware of the wetness around her eyes.

"Easy there, young lady." There was this voice again, reminding her that she wasn't alone.

Hastily, Lenya wiped at the tears and glared at to the person sitting next to her. No, this person wasn't Ashalle. Of course not. She was gone, like the rest of her clan. They left her behind to flee what the Keeper called the Blight and sent her on her way with this damn shem promising a cure for her sickness. Her stomach lurched at the thought, twisting into too many knots..She was caught here now, with no way to escape. Feeling new tears pricking hotly at the corner of her eyes, Lenya glanced away from the strange elderly woman watching her in silence. As she buried her face in her hands, she felt the woman's hand brushing over her tousled, long hair again.

Lenya flinched away from her touch. " I don't need your pity, shem!"

"Good," she replied, a smile in her voice. "For I have none to give."

That made her look up to her again, the reply most unexpected. She noticed that the gray-haired shem woman was dressed in a red, form-fitting robe. A mage, perhaps? It would explain the thrum of magic, of the Beyond's pull she faintly felt. Lenya's gaze hardened upon her. "What are you doing here in my tent?"

"Well, but you are in _my_ tent, my dear." Turning to stand up, the mage left the tent, and returned with a cup in her hands just moments later. "Here, drink this. You must be parched, and this will help you to get on your feet again." Lenya eyed the proffered cup with distrust and did not take it from her.

"Maker, child. I didn't heal you only to poison you again with a brew." The shem clucked her tongue. "Do you really think I would stoop so low?"

"Yes. I do not know you, in fact." _Shems are not to be trusted_, her mind added, almost immediately.

"Well, my name is Wynne, and I looked after you for the past hours. I am glad to see you waking up and in good spirits again, given your... condition." She frowned, which wrinkled her pale forehead even further."You were very sick and burning up when your fellow Warden brought you here. I was able to lower your temperature with my magic, but it won't last for long."

"My... what?" Lenya faintly remembered the odd, talkative shemlen she had set out to find here in Ostagar – if only to finally get away from the man who took her from her clan against her will.

The mage flicked her hand, and Lenya felt the tinge of magic prickling on her skin as the content in the cup started to steam. "Here, drink. You need it."

"Fine,"she gave in with a sigh and took it. As she held it close in her hands without drinking, the bittersweet scent of elfroot wafted into her nose. "Ugh."

"It is a medicinal herb tea I brewed after you got here," Wynne explained, unbidden. "I have only warmed it up for you again, since it is more digestible for your nervous stomach this way."

"I know,"Lenya mumbled in reply, blowing on the hot liquid to cool it down. _Ashalle used to make it for me when I was _– she stopped the thought, forced herself to. With a heavy heart, she slowly drank, taking small sips. She both hated and yearned for the familiarity of this beverage; caught between wanting to savor it and flinging the cup and its contents against the canvas wall. For a moment, the warmth of it gave her a sense of calm, however fleeting it was.

"I spoke with Duncan, your commander-"

"This shem is not my anything!" Lenya harshly cut into her words, putting the now emptied wooden cup down.

"I see," the human hummed, seemed to deliberate on her next words. She sat down next to the Dalish on the ground and folded her hands in her lap. "I heard you aren't here out of your free will, and that your sickness is the reason. Even then, you tried to escape him and run back to your clan several times." The thin lines of her mouth curved upwards and amusement weaved into her words. "Impressive how you made the Warden Commander work to bring you here." She only stared at the mage, unable to discern what she wanted to achieve with her words. "However, the extra strain put on your ill body wasn't beneficial for your health and also a factor in you passing out not long ago. You remember that, don't you?"

_Ah_. "Why do you even care, shem?"

"Because I was the one healing you, young lady." She let out a sigh. "I understand you are a long way from home, from your people but even so, you have to take better care of yourself. If not for me or the Wardens, do it for the people you care about."

"They are all gone now..." Lenya said under her breath, her voice barely more than a whisper. Swallowing thickly, she blinked the tears away and felt her anger rising. No, she wouldn't cry anymore, not in front of _them_, ever. She was Dalish and proud to be. If not that, what was left for her? _Never again shall we submit._ She couldn't show them even an inkling of weakness. "Stop meddling and prodding, human. It is none of your business."

"Maybe I am meddling," the mage shemlen admitted with a nonchalant shrug and chuckled. "Isn't that what old people such as myself do?"

Lenya only made an annoyed sound in the back of her throat. What was the deal with this human?

"To be honest," she continued, "I'd rather be in the tower now than participating in the war, but sometimes we don't have a choice and do what we must do. Maybe joining the Wardens is a new chance for you, even if it is an unwanted one." She tilted her head and looked at her intently. "And this will certainly be the one that saves your life. So it is worth a try at least, is it not?"

Ah yes, the supposed cure for her sickness that warden shem promised and dragged her here for to Ostagar against her will. For a good amount of the distance traveled he did so in quite the literal sense, even. Especially after her various escape attempts, after which he had her bound and thrown over his horse like luggage. Her expression shifted to a scowl. "It wasn't my choice, I want nothing of it."

"And yet you are here," the mage simply stated. "What does this make you then?"

The question threw her for a loop. Instead of replying, Lenya rushed to her feet, her patience spent. "Can I go now?" Why was she even asking for permission? "_I'm_ going now," she quickly corrected herself.

Wynne bestowed her with a knowing look, frustratingly so. "Oh, certainly, my dear."

"Ugh." Before she had a chance to storm out, Lenya noticed the lack of her weapon belt around her hips and whirled around, furious. "Where are my belongings? My weapons? You took them away!"

"I did nothing of this sort, young lady. Your fellow Warden took them for safekeeping, as he went back to the Warden encampment. You will most likely find him and your belongings there, in the southern part of Ostagar."

That _thieving_ shem'alas, how dare he touch them, take them away from her? Lenya balled her hands to fists at her side. Not answering, she rushed out of the tent and headed, with quick, angry steps, toward the encampment of the Wardens.

.

.

* * *

.

Sitting in front of his own tent, Alistair eyed the two slightly curved blades sheathed in the belt lying on his lap. The dark brown leather sheaths of the blades were sturdy and ornamented with fine, intertwined lines of leaves and vines. Fitting for the weapons of a Dalish, he supposed. What really really caught his eye was a smaller dagger in a plain leather sheath, however. Taking it out of the sheath to still his curiosity, he noted a similar curved blade and the intricate, foreign carvings on its hilt. The dagger itself was old and worn, the blade blunt and scratched. To him, it made no sense that someone would want to carry it around in this state, since it couldn't be used for anything.

"Oy, went under the rogues after all, did ya?"

The sudden voice made his head snap back up, bringing Daveth into the focus of his vision. Feeling caught, Alistair hid the blade within his lap. "I can assure you, the only way I will ever be a roguish sneaky type and do what you guys do will be running headlong into every trap possible. And thus disarming them for everybody else."

"Hmm, sounds painful."He laughed."So ya better not, mate."

"I don't plan to, believe me. I like using my shield to bash darkspawn in the head. Or hiding behind it."

"So whadda ya doing with these weapons then?" Daveth nodded toward the weapon belt in his lap. Damn this man and his curiosity. "Have you stolen it somewhere? And, if so, can I have these?"

"S-stolen?" Alistair sputtered. He couldn't believe it. "N-no, of course not. I'm only keeping them safe until -"

"You!" The sudden, very livid arrival of a particular elven woman stopped Alistair in his tracks. Heedless of all the other Wardens around her, she stormed directly toward him, her whole 5'2" of height shaking with rage. With someone else her size and trim, lean stature, it would have looked comical, but with her it was downright terrifying, making him wince. Especially as her gaze fell on the belt he still held onto. "Shem'alas, you stole my weapons!" A few foreign curses in her native language followed her glare before she snatched her belt from him and whirled around. Noticing almost instantly how something was amiss with it, or rather _missing_ still, she turned around again. Oh crap. Everyone around him had fallen deadly silent and were staring at the scene unfolding before their eyes. His heart racing, Alistair wished he could dissolve into thin air or at least fling the dagger in another direction and blame it on wild animals. "How dare you touching my belongings?" Gloved hands balled into fists, she looked all too ready to use them on his face. He liked his face the way it was, so he quickly and meekly returned the blade to her.

"I-uh, just kept it safe until your return, really."

But the Dalish wasn't interested in hearing an explanation _or_ staying. Having reclaimed what was rightfully hers, she rushed into the other direction without looking back. So much for making a good first impression. Or a second, in his case.

"Oh suuure you haaaave," Daveth drawled in her stead, sounding far too amused for his taste. Alistair also noticed his appraising stare on her rapidly retreating backside – which would have annoyed him, if he weren't too busy shrinking into himself. "She is a wild one, innit? I like that."

"Pfft, you like everything on two legs with tits," Junan cut in, snorting. "Besides, this woman would cut your dick off quicker than you can say 'Dalish', I'm sure." He turned to Alistair with a shit-eating grin. "So _that_ is the recruit who managed to exhaust the Commander so much that he needed to rest for a few hours after his arrival? I can see now _why_. Also heard she tried to escape a couple of times and run back to her clan. Duncan had to chase after her each time and rein her in to bring her here."

"She did _what_?" His face still flushed, Alistair's eyes went wide. "Even with the Blight sickness eating her alive?"

"Aye." His fellow Warden nodded, still grinning. "The darkspawn won't know what hit them." Having met her two times so far and on both occasions furious and glaring, Alistair was more than inclined to agree.

While he still digested the information given to him, Duncan emerged from his tent in the center of their encampment. His mentor walked across the camp to reach them, halting in front of Junan and the Warden recruit. "Ah good, Daveth, you are here. Find Jory and then meet me, armed and armored, at the large bonfire in the center."

"Aye, boss, will do." Daveth mock-saluted, though he turned to leave right after.

As he greeted Alistair with an acknowledging nod, he noticed just how exhausted Duncan looked, despite his rest. His deep russet complexion had taken on a dull ashen tone, and his eyes were somewhat bleary and reddened. "Alistair, where is the new recruit who arrived with me?"

"Um, well, she was here, but you just missed her, actually." He cleared his throat as he stood up. "She left only moments ago." Better not to mention this whole gaffe with her weapons, since he seemed troubled enough already.

"_Left_?" A panicked edge mixed into his mentor's voice, which he wouldn't have understood were it not for Junan's tendency to always gossip like a fishwife.

"The camp, I mean. Not Ostagar," he hurried to add. "... I _hope_."

Duncan pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed his eyes with his bare hand. "Maker's breath."

"That bad, huh?" Alistair suppressed the grin that wanted to tug at his lips. For Duncan's sake.

Junan next to him was far less subtle, however. "Heard you had some hard days with her, Commander."

Duncan sighed, letting it fade into a quiet groan. "To put it mildly. Her determination to put distance between herself and myself has been... challenging, but we are here at last." His eyes slid sideways to Junan: a quiet warning to not push the issue further. "And that is all that counts."

"Of course," was the noncommittal agreement, "as long you are sure that Dalish is indeed worth the all trouble, especially so close to the battle."

"I would not have conscripted her if I did not think she had promise."

"Conscripted?" A bark of laughter escaped Alistair. "You had to conscript her? Maker, she really doesn't want to be here, huh?" Given how sick she was, her unwillingness was even more odd.

"She will have time to adapt to her new life, after the battle," Duncan said in the tone that didn't leave room for discussion. "For now, it is important we concentrate on the preparations for the Joining."

"I thought Galen already did that?" Junan asked, frowning.

"Yes, thankfully. But, as always, the recruits have to do their parts too, of course." He turned sideways to Alistair. "I need you to find her and then meet me at our day post by the bonfire. It is time for you to lead your charges through the Wilds."

"Find her?" Alistair nearly sputtered, shaking his head. "Duncan, she isn't exactly what you would call cooperative."

"Oh, I am sure you will find a way, Junior." Junan nudged him with his elbow, which made Alistair roll his eyes at his fellow Warden, but didn't stop him from doubling down. "Use your charm to rein in the lady."

"If you want her to abandon Ostagar and run back to her clan after all, I just might," he shot back, his tone biting.

"Are you done bickering now?" Duncan simply asked, his gaze stern. "Or are there any more mages you need to sass, Alistair?"

"Junan isn't a ma...- _oh that_." With all that had happened, the unwilling weasel-like mage had already slipped his mind. He shrugged. "What can I say? The revered mother ambushed me here in camp. The way she wields guilt they should stick her in the army."

Duncan shook his head. "We cannot afford to antagonize anyone, Alistair. We don't need to give anyone more ammunition against us."

Alistair felt his gut knot up. Duncan _also_ utilized guilt as a weapon now, which wasn't wholly fair. Even if there was truth in his words. The picture of Teyrn Loghain and his sharp, judging words about the Wardens came back before his eyes, unbidden. "You're right, Duncan. I apologize," he gave in. Letting out a frustrated hiss, Alistair dragged a bare hand through his hair. "Alright, alright, I'm going. Just give me a moment to get ready and -" he trailed off in favor of reclaiming his missing armor pieces and weapons from his tent, glad to feel their familiar weight in his hands. At least he would now be armed when meeting her, so he could hide behind his shield when she would inevitably resort to glaring at him again. "But if I don't come back -"

"Maker, you treat her as if she is an ogre, when she is just a homesick, young gal, Junior." Normally, the older Warden had the patience of a saint, especially with his brand of humor. So this made his sudden outburst even more unexpected. "I know we were all jesting about her furious appearance here, but maybe, simply try treating her like a person instead?"

"I-" Shoulders slumping, Alistair glanced away. His chest tightened as guilt settled in once more. Perhaps he had been carried away by it all, by the amusing anecdotes of her gruff behavior and escape attempts. She seemed to him more like a mystical creature than a person who was sick with the Blight and cut off from the life and all the people she'd ever known. Not everyone chose to be a Warden like he had, and Junan's words were an unwanted but important reminder of that. Maker, come to think of it, he didn't even know her name, least of all anything else. Alistair didn't expect her to share anything with him, considering how their two meetings had gone down so far. Yet it wouldn't hurt to at least _ask_ her. Her being a Warden recruit made her his responsibility as well, and he had to take care that they, and she in particular, were prepared before meeting darkspawn in the Wilds. Not that he looked forward to this part himself, but as a full-fledged Warden his lead was needed.

"You are right. I really should try this," he said eventually, determined to see it through. Duncan was counting on him, after all. And he, sort of, owed it to the Dalish to give her a chance. At least finding her in the giant ruins had been made easier due to being able to sense the taint in her. Not thinking longer about what that meant, Alistair set out for his task.

.

.

* * *

.

The tumbled walls of the ancient ruins stretched upward to loom overhead like the ribs of some massive beast. Overgrown patches of tall grass hugged the stones' ends here and there, while small plants shot up in the cracks between the cobblestone path. They swayed gently in the late-summer breeze and basked in the sun's glow. Despite its peaceful picture, it felt devoid by life to her, as covered in stone as everything here was. Neither the wilderness slowly consuming the aged architecture, nor the moss gripping every wall could shift this impression. To her, it was more an imitation of nature, a last defiant flare of it, not like home. _Never_ like home.

Lenya dragged her hand along the walls as she walked, with far less urgency than before. The stone was hot to her touch; the heat even permeated the thick leather of her gloves. Her fingers splayed along each crack within, its white surface made smooth by centuries of rain and wind. It was as much a mindless, idle activity to her as getting to know the perimeters of this dreaded place that felt so much like a prison. A very wide, overcrowded, stinking and loud prison at that. Creators, not a single moment passed without someone yelling or crying. It Felt like a place where bleating cattle were kept until they were led to the slaughter.

Considering how close the impending battle appeared to be, it seemed to be a fitting notion somehow. Meeting their foolish keep-..._king_ earlier hadn't exactly filled her with hope regarding their overall chance of survival. Alas, this also included her, as caught as she was in this place now.

Behind her, something loud and metallic clattered upon stone. She snapped a suspicious glance over her shoulder toward the source and saw how a flat-eared servant grovelled to his feet to gather the batch of weapons he'd dropped.

_Pathetic_.

Her face twisted into a scowl, and she accelerated her steps to get away from this undignified imitation of an elf. Was this her life now? Being around only shemlen and flat ears who served them without question? If so, dying of this strange sickness seemed the far better, quicker and less painful option. Then again, their idiotic keep-... _king_, who thought of strategy as boring, might do the same trick. _If_ she even lived long enough to see them fail spectacularly, of course.

Sighing at the thought, Lenya looked upward to determine the current time. With her hand, she shielded her eyes to hinder the glare of the sun from blinding her. It still stood high, framed within a clear blue sky, indicating it was early midday at best. Having long since fulfilled the urge to get away from the annoying, thieving shem, she wasn't quite sure what to do with herself now. Stopping again, she breathed in deeply, only to immediately wrinkle her nose at the stench coming from the place with animals constantly… _barking_? Underneath the tang of hay and musk, it smelled similar to freshly skinned bear fur that hadn't aired out enough yet.

She coughed to keep the sudden bout of nausea at bay, but, being too curious, she still found herself walking in the direction of the animals. Lenya had heard stories of fearsome war-beasts from Ashalle and the older hunters that traded in shemlen cities, but had never seen a hound up close. Such animals were revered by the shemlen only, and they rarely ventured so deep into the Brecilian Forest as to meet one of the clans. Except for these damn three shemlen with whom everything beg-

"Are you the new Grey Warden?"

Being so caught up in thoughts and regrets, Lenya hadn't even noticed that the way she treads had come to an end and left her standing here, in front of the animals' kennel. Only a flimsy wooden fence separated her from the massive war hounds, but she didn't feel threatened. Most of them simply sat in their pen and peered at her with mild disinterest, if they reacted at all to her presence.

"I could use some help," the voice tried anew, reminding her of being addressed earlier.

Her head snapped up to find yet another, older human looking at her expectantly. He was clad in rough leather armor, his skin a golden brown. His dark, shoulder-long strands and beard were peppered with gray. He kind of reminded her of that damn Warden shem, but then again humans looked all the same to her. She crossed her arms and glared up at him. "Why should I help you?"

"This is a mabari. Smart breed, and strong." He gestured to the pen beside him. "His owner died in the last battle, and the poor hound swallowed darkspawn blood. I have medicine that might help, but I need him muzzled first."

Lenya's defiant stance softened. "He's... sick?" _Like me._

The shem nodded, the lines of his face furrowing further as he frowned. "I will have to put him down if he doesn't get his treatment. To help him, I need to muzzle him first, but I fear being bitten and contracting the darkspawn taint. You, however..." He pointed at her. ":.. are a Grey Warden, or soon will be. All Wardens are immune to the darkspawn taint. The most you have to worry about is some tooth marks."

Without answering, Lenya stepped closer to the pen and stretched to peer over the high wooden fence. Behind it, the hound sat huddled against the stone wall in the furthest corner. Ears flattened, the animal trembled and saliva trailed in strings and foamy gobs from his mouth. Sensing her gaze, he heaved his muscular head to look at her with a quiet whine, before falling back into his routine of sickness-induced apathy.

Her throat tightened and she had to blink fast to keep the tears at bay. Seeing the animal struck with the same sickness burning inside of her was too close for comfort. "I'll do it," she announced quickly. "I want to help him."

"Thank the Maker!" The human let out a sigh of relief and approached her to hand her a weird dark leather construct. "I would be loathe to lose such a fine mabari."

Lenya eyed the foreign... thing before taking it. "How...?"

"This is the muzzle, of course. Put it over his head and jaw," the shemlen explained. "But before you do that, let him smell you. Show him you are no threat."

She didn't reply, already too focused on taking measured steps forward, as he opened the gate to the pen. Her breath quickened as she advanced on the animal and briefly caught in her throat when she saw its massive size up close. The beast was easily three feet high at the shoulder and covered in coarse, tawny fur with black dots. Growling quietly, he pressed his heavily-muscled body further into the wall behind him. Curling his lips back in warning, he revealed teeth that looked as sharp and large as those of grown forest bears.

Instinctively, Lenya halted all her movements. Backed away in the corner as the animal already was, every further step would have been one too much and cause it to attack. So instead of coming too close, she started to slowly and very deliberately kneel down to be on level with the mabari. It was a dangerous gamble, for one wrong or too hasty movement could signal the hound to jump and kill her with his massive jaw and fangs. Letting the heavy leather muzzle fall down beside her into the hay, she looked at him and found remarkable intelligence in those honey-colored eyes.

"_Harel'din, da'fen._ I'm not here to hurt you," Lenya said, keeping her voice soft and low.

Relinquishing his aggressive stance almost immediately after she had spoken these words, the hound cocked his head and observed her with open interest. "You can feel it burning too, right? The sickness, the corruption. It churns within your veins and beneath your skin like a festering wound." He gave her a small woof, as if agreeing, and she had an inkling that he understood _every_ of her words. "I'm sick too, you know?" His short, pointy ears now upright, he whined and pawed at the soft, hay-covered soil. He looked as if he wanted to come closer to her, but seemed unsure of it.

Lenya breathed in, small choppy intakes of air that tasted too much like sadness upon her tongue. It was too late to back down now anyway, even if a not insignificant part of her felt incredibly stupid for baring her soul to a _dog_. Then again, she had spoken to her clan's halla before and this creature seemed to possess similar intelligence and awareness of its surroundings. "My Keeper's magic kept the sickness at bay for weeks, but I can feel its effect dwindling and the corruption starting to eat at me again. It hurts and -" Trailing off to swallow thickly, Lenya's voice dropped to a hushed whisper. "Maybe it would have been better if I hadn't survived this and died like –" The hound let out a long, loud whine and nudged her with his head. The sudden force of it nearly threw her off-balance, and she needed a moment to stabilize herself – in more ways than one. Huffing softly, he lay his large head upon her shoulder, practically forcing her to embrace his thick, muscular neck. As she did so, she regretted that she was still wearing her gloves. Her fingers itched to feel the coarse, short fur her hands were curled into. The hound still smelt too much like wet forest bear and wolf combined for her taste, though the quiet solace, this sudden understanding between them, was too invaluable to her to really care about it now.

"You have lost someone too, haven't you?" He nudged her shoulder and whined plaintively next her ear. Then, the mabari begun to pant more and more all of a sudden. The tremor rocking through his canine body vibrated underneath her fingertips, reminding her why she had come here in the first place. Like her, the animal was in pain. "Let me help you, _da'fen._ Hold still." Backing away, she reached for the muzzle beside her. Lenya noticed how he fought against the trembles and held still for her, even though she needed several attempts to fit the muzzle over his head in the right way. "There, done." She patted his head. "Good boy. You'll see, it will be alright. Everything will be alright," she repeated, not believing her own words. How could she, so far away from everyone she'd ever cared for?

Behind her, someone cleared his throat and fell into a fit of coughing in doing so. "I... um, _wow_, here you are," the person then managed, and she recognized his voice. It was this damn thieving shem again. How long had he been standing there? Her ears twitched slightly as the heat rose to their tips. Once. Twice. She was going to kill him. Swallowing through a too tight throat, the incalescence of embarrassment settled in the pit of her stomach as a blazing fire, burning in tune with the corruption inside. As she jumped to her feet and whirling round to him, her shoulders stiffened. "_You_! Again!"

"That was remarkable, Warden," the hound master interrupted her with a smile, completely oblivious to her rage. "I have rarely seen something like this, if at all. I thought he was a lost case, but now I can treat the dog properly – poor fellow."

Lenya only spared him a single sharp look before approaching the Warden again. He hands on her hips, she peered up at his impossible height. _Why are all the shemlen so tall, ugh._

"Why are you following me around, shem?"

He made several unintelligible sounds, his mouth popping open and shut, letting them end in a whimper. Pink slowly turned to crimson and settled within the cheeks of his brown skin. Hazel-colored eyes darted about in panic as he struggled for anything resembling words. Her own eyes narrowed on him with a scoff.

Creators, even the dog just now had better communication skills.

"I, um, was searching for you, in fact," he said, just when she'd given up on ever hearing a coherent word out of his mouth. "And I found you, _wow_." His held breath came out as a weak, nervous laugh.

"Yes, you have," she stated, coolly, and stepped out of the dog pen. "Now go away."

"I would leave you talking to... hounds all day, if I could..." Her look shifted to a full blown glare at that, causing him to add in a rush, "... but as the Junior member of the order, and you being a Warden recruit, it is my task to take care of you and -"

"Like stealing my weapons?"

His eyes pinched briefly shut. When he reopened them, his expression on her hardened. "I did _not_ steal them, nor did I intend on eavesdropping on your quality time with the dog." Huffing a resigned sigh, he looked upwards and grimaced. "Look," the shem said, his gaze open, beseeching her. "I'm aware we started off on the wrong foot. Or… _several_, in fact. But since we are going to spend the next hours together, can we please start over? My name is Alistair and -"

Lenya's eyebrows shot up to her hairline, before furrowing into a frown. "The next few hours? Why?"

"Hmm, caught that part at least, huh?" His lips twitched with wry amusement. Which was a surprising change after all of his stammering and overall idiocy. "I see you already have your weapons that you are so fond of. Good. Since you and I, err, and the two other recruits are going to head to the Wilds very soon."

Everything in her bristled at the mere thought of spending any more minutes with that human, least of all hours. "No."

"Aww, don't be like that, dear lady." Pursing his lips into a mock pout, he clasped his gauntleted hands over his heart. "You wound my pride."

"I will wound much more if you don't leave me alone," Lenya warned and began to head in the opposite direction of this living and breathing nuisance. Though the kennel master's voice quickly halted her steps.

"Excuse me, Wardens. I couldn't help to overhear your conversation. You are heading into the Korcari Wilds soon?"

"Yes."

"No." She continued to walk away.

"There's a particular herb I could use to improve the dog's chances to survive." At that, Lenya froze on the spot, turning around to face the older man from some distance. The shemlen took it as sign to go on with his request. "It's a flower that grows in the Wilds here, often on top of rotting wood. If you happen across it, I could use the plant to treat the dog. It looks very distinctive: all white with a blood-red center."

Lenya squinted at him, then at the dog's pen, and back at the man. She pointedly ignored the Warden shem standing in the middle. "Why don't you do it yourself?"

"I would, but the Wilds are off-limits to non-soldiers," he explained, heaving his shoulders in a shrug. "And I have many other hounds under my care."

"Will the mabari be alright without the flower?"

"For a time, perhaps," the man said, shaking his head. "But eventually I would have to put him down."

_Ugh_. Lenya gritted her teeth together. She hated this lack of choices, which seemed to cling to her like halla droppings did to boots. Agreeing to this task meant agreeing to follow the other, very annoying shemlen, but if she didn't do this, the hound would most certainly die. And of all the people in this creators-damned place, she liked the dog most... _by far_. "Fine," she pressed out. "I'll go there, for the flower."

"Aaaand collecting darkspawn blood." Lenya grimaced at _his_ reappearance, which he mistook as disgust about the topic. "Sorry, it is part of your task for the Joining, but don't worry, I will be with you, err, all of you, all the way." Smiling a lopsided grin, the shem headed toward the center of the main area.

"Great," she groused, and followed him at some distance.

"Yes, isn't it?" he agreed, his voice laced with a sarcastic cheer. "Like a party, indeed. We can all stand in a circle and hold hands. That would give the darkspawn there pause, I'm sure." Slowing down his walk, he waited for her to catch up to him, thwarting her plan of keeping her distance. He turned to her as soon she arrived in line with him. "Come to think of it, I still don't know your name."

"Because I have not given it to you, shem."

"Right. So, um, what do I call you, then?"

"Not interested."

"Hello 'not interested', I'm Alistair." _Oh no, he did not just-_ Lenya's step faltered from the effort it took to not throw herself down and curl into a ball of cringe. Oblivious to her inner pain, he flashed her a grin and seemed quite proud of himself. "Huh, that is a strange name for a woman. Is it Dalish, perhaps?"

_Ugh_, she thought. "Ugh," she also said, accentuating the word with another grimace, and accelerating her steps as Duncan came into view in front of a large bonfire. For all the many times she tried to get away from this damn human, she could currently not be any more glad to see him again.

.

.

* * *

.

**Change notes:**

_I scrapped the entire old chapter and version, since I now really dislike the tone, pacing and characterization in it. Lenya's characterization is also different, though in its essence still stays true to her overall character. I just wanted to dig deeper than the cringy "har har look a crazy elf who glares a lot" my old version had going on for some reason. And this is the (hopefully better) result of it. I did cut a lot of the unimportant side-quest stuff I have described in great detail in the old version. Helping the dog is the only one that is plot-relevant, after all. Also new is the emphasis on her blight sickness, which I had forgone before, but found important to bring in greater detail. After all, Mahariel is the only origin where you are already tainted and need the Joining to live. _

_Reviews are much appreciated._


	3. Where The Wild Things Are

**A/N:** _This chapter had been originally written and published on Ao3 in mid-october 2017. If you want to see the up-to-date version of this story, come find me on Ao3 under the same nickname (Merilsell) and story name (Of Elves And Humans: Redux). Enjoy?_

_._

**Chapter 3: Where The Wild Things Are**

.

.

"Help!"

Hearing a strangled cry cutting through the thick air of the Wilds, Alistair broke into a sprint. With his weapon and shield still in hand, he cut around the faraway corner, past the wolf carcasses they had killed only moments earlier. The three recruits followed him at some distance. Or so he hoped.

Arriving long before they did, he found himself standing at the site of a bloody massacre. A massive wagon lay overturned by the side of the swamp, and the equally large oxen that had been pulling it lay dead next to it in a large pool of blood. Huge strips of meat and even some limbs had been torn off the animal, clearly the handiwork of darkspawn, ugh, _feasting _upon its carcass. The animal hadn't been the only victim of the attack, of course. Several heavily-armored men lay face-down and bloodied on the spongy, unnaturally green ground turned crimson. Alistair heard the heavy steps of Jory and Daveth approaching behind him, yet otherwise the Wilds were deathly quiet. Had he he just imagined hearing -

"Over here!" There it was again. As he darted forward, he saw a wounded man sprawled on the ground, trying to crawl toward him. The man squinted up at him, his words rushed, panicked. "My scouting band was attacked by darkspawn! They came out of the ground. Please, help me! I've got to... return to camp!"

Alistair quickly set aside his weapon and shield to rummage in his small supply bag for the scarce bandages within. Finding them, he peered down at the man and raised an eyebrow. "Well, he's not half as dead as he looks, is he?"

"Who is that?" the wounded soldier cried out, pained. "Grey Wardens?"

"Ugh," the Dalish made what seemed to be her umpteenth noise of disgust, making him jump. He hadn't even noticed that she'd appeared next to him. However useful it had proven to be only moments ago, it was still a little unsettling to him how _quietly_ she was able to move. Looking back up, she let her eyes stray to the distanced part of the swamp, and all of a sudden the scowl seemingly permanently etched across her features vanished. "Oh," she exclaimed, stepping over the wounded, gore-covered soldier as if he were merely part of the scenery, "I think I have found it."

Before he could bristle at her callousness, Daveth spoke up. "Ya finished staring, or do ya wanna wait till the fellow here bleeds out?" The man on the ground moaned, too weak to ask for help again.

_Right _.

Kneeling down to him, Alistair started to cautiously probe for the man's worst wounds. He quickly found them in his midsection, where a part of his armor was missing. "Jory, help me to press down here," he said, though the man remained frozen on the spot, as if in fear.

"Andraste's bare tits," Daveth swore, rolling his eyes as he pushed past him and took Jory's place to aid Alistair. "Are ya useful for anything, Ser Knight?"

"Did you hear? An entire patrol of seasoned men killed by darkspawn!" Ser Jory's breath came out a tremble. "How many darkspawn can the four of us slay? A dozen? A hundred? There's an entire army in these forests!"

Alistair bit back the annoyed groan bubbling up his throat. He did not have time for this, especially not _right now._ Even as he focused on fastening and securing the bandage as tight as possible around the soldier's midsection, he looked up at the frightened man for a moment. "Yes, there are darkspawn about, but we're in no danger of walking into the bulk of the horde. As a Warden, I can sense them."

"See, Ser Knight," Daveth said, looking up with a smirk on his face."We might die horribly, but at least we will be warned about it."

Just as Alistair had finished treating the wounds and helped the man back up on his feet, the elven woman reappeared next to him. For a moment, the soldier wobbled, unsteady, but then pushed past them, eager to get away. "T-thank you! I... I've got to get out of here!"

The Dalish watched him hobble away toward camp with barely disguised contempt. "He will never make it back alone. It would have been better to put him out of his misery."

"Oh yes, of course. That is not callous at all," Alistair snapped back, glaring at her. "Maker, remind me to never get wounded around you!" He scoffed. "But wow, so _nice _of you to join us again."

She mirrored his glare with her own, before extinguishing its ferocity with a roll of her eyes. "Whatever, _shem_. I have what I want, so I am going now."

His gaze flicked down to her hands, recognizing she held the same flower the kennel master had described to them not long ago. "Eager to return to your only friend, I see." At that, her steps hitched and eventually stopped. It was a low blow, not his finest moment by far. Yet something about her, this sheer indifference she showed for everyone around her, let him all too willingly rise to the bait she had laid out so readily. She made it obvious every waking moment that she didn't want to be here, and that made him livid too. The Wardens - _Duncan _\- tried to save her life and still she'd shown them - _him _\- nothing but contempt.

"Eh lass, not that I'd mind leaving this bloody place with ya," Daveth chipped in, "but ya still need to collect yo share of darkspawn blood and find the cache with us before ya do that!" Her answer came swiftly in the form of a raised middle finger over her shoulder.

"Oh, ruuude." The thief laughed. Unlike Jory, who stared at her with a shocked expression in his eyes, he seemed amused by her reaction. "In which part of the forest did they teach ya that?"

Alistair didn't share his enthusiasm - far from it, in fact. With a single stride, he closed the distance she had already put between herself and them and grabbed her by the arm to force her to look at him. Underneath the hard pace of the heartbeat thrumming in his ears, he was aware he was yelling. "What is your sodding problem, woman?"

She locked eyes with him for a moment, motionless. Then, she yanked her arm away. "Don't touch me!" Her shoulders pushed back in a stiff line, before they began trembling. So did her voice, contrasting the sharpness of her tone. "My problem?" She gritted her teeth. "You. Them. This here. All of it. No one _asked _for you _shemlen _to intervene. And still did one of yours strode into our camp like a human emerald knight, after -" Her voice faltered, and she swallowed audibly.

"Oh _excuse_ Duncan for saving you."

"I did not _ask _him to!" The words burst out of her. "Nor did I want him to take me away from my clan."

Scowling, Alistair shook his head. "Maker, woman, don't you want to live? Joining the Wardens is your only way to survive your illness."

"And? What life is _that?" _She stepped closer still, imposing on his personal space so much that he could feel the heat radiating from her body. As he inhaled harshly to steady himself, the scent of leather and blood wafted into his flared nostrils. The taint inside of her screamed and scratched in his head - volatile, akin to darkspawn. He backed away, needed to. "I would have rather died among my clan, my family, but I didn't even get that. Instead, I'm now stuck, caught and imprisoned _here_, like the hound in his pen. The only difference is that my pen is a bit larger. So yeah." She smiled bitterly. "Don't expect me to grovel at your feet like the flat-ears do."

"I'm not, at all." Alistair had no idea whom she actually meant with 'flat-ears', but it was the most candid she'd ever been with him. He could use it, hopefully. "Just… returning to camp will achieve nothing. We can't return without these items. If we do, it will only postpone the Joining, and you should know _why _that would be a bad idea for you."

Her shoulders fell back down as some of her tension dissipated, though her eyes never lost their intensity. "Everyone keeps going on about this Joining. What makes it so fucking special?"

"Look," he said with a sigh, dropping his voice further. "I can't tell you much. Only that it will make you, err, _immune _against the sickness inside of you. So that is a good thing, right?"

She scoffed. "That remains to be seen."

"Still angry, then." He huffed a curt laugh and felt the corner of his lip turn upward. "Good. If you use _that _against the darkspawn we meet, I can assure you we will get done here much faster."

The elf was quiet for a moment, seemingly weighing her options. Looking down, he saw how she twirled the thin stem of the dog flower between her gloved fingers. Her foot tapped repeatedly on the ground, its sound swallowed by the spongy soil. "Fine," she said another moment later, stowing the flower safely away in her belt bag. "I can do that."

"Really?" Truth be told, Alistair hadn't expected her to agree with him - with any of it, to be exact. "Huh, glad to hear it, then. So, since we are getting along so well now, will you reveal the secret of your name?"

"You are pushing your luck, shem."

"No, it is more for strategic reasons." _Mostly_. "It will be difficult to warn you about darkspawn wanting to stab your back or any other side of you, when all I can do is yell 'hey _you_, watch out'. Because then everyone is starting to turn around and -"

"Creators, will you shut up if I tell you my name?"

Alistair chuckled. "Maybe? Unless it is warning you about darkspawn or -"

"Lenya, ugh."

"Lenya, _ugh _? Is that your surname?" Okay, maybe he was overusing this joke and indeed pushing his luck. He raised his hands in apology to keep her from snapping at him. "I jest, I jest. It is a nice name, really."

"I don't care what you think," she said, roughly pushing past him. Ah, so back to good old hostility, it was. He let out a wry snort as he watched her - _Lenya _\- stalking away, this time in the right direction.

.

.

* * *

.

The last darkspawn of the horde fell dead to the ground with a dull thud, speared in the back by one of her blades. Pulling the dagger out, Lenya averted her face as black, acrid arcs of blood from a torn artery sprayed hotly across her arms. The rank, pungent reek of corruption bit and burned in her nose, reminding her all too much of rotting deer carcasses left behind by wild predators in the woods.

Holding her breath, she squatted down to its corpse to fill her own vial with the remainder of its rancid blood. The two idiot recruits had already succeeded in this task some time ago, and the Warden shem kept annoying her to get her own. So it was better to finally get it over with, her deep disgust and repulsion to touch these rotten bastards notwithstanding.

"Ugh," she grunted, after resurfacing, giving the twisted figure on the ground a hard kick with her boots.

"I see you got your vial at last, Lenya." Wiping his sword on some leaves and sheathing it again, the Warden approached her. "About time, too. Would have been awkward if we had killed all the darkspawn in our way, and you _still_ hadn't gotten your vial."

She felt him looming at her back, but didn't turn around to face him. "If you don't want me to add a vial of _your _blood to the mix, you better shut up, shem!"

"Aww." He chuckled. "Why did I know you would say that? I think it is because we were getting to know each other really well these past few hours." It wasn't his first delve into sarcasm and, sadly, it would not be his last. "I also know that this isn't your first time meeting darkspawn," he added, his tone suddenly far more serious.

"Oh really?" Lenya rolled her eyes and found herself observing the horizon. Behind a thick white vapor, the low-hanging sun looked like a faded orb, robbed of most of its color and brilliance. It would be evening soon. "How you excel at stating the obvious, shem. Since you have been here too these past few hours."

"No, I meant _before _the Wilds."

She whirled around to stare at him. "What? How do you know?"

"Just common sense, really." He shrugged. The motion lifted the heavy shoulder plates of his armor with a creak. "I see, um, the way you fight them. You go straight for their weak points. Such things aren't common knowledge, unless you have already encountered them or studied them."

Now Lenya was the one shrugging, if only to cover up her surprise about how... observant this shemlen was. "As hideous as these bastards are, they bleed the same as a person or animal would. So killing them isn't exactly complicated."

"Oh, I will remind you of _that _when we are encountering an ogre. After I have finished soiling my pants, of course." A small smile tugged at his lips. "In any case, it shows why Duncan recruited you."

"Recruited?" Lenya started walking toward the faraway building up the hill, which was half-shrouded in mist. She didn't even bother waiting for him, least of all for the other two idiots who trailed after them like obedient, brain-dead creatures. Threading up the hill toward the crumbling remains of a ruin, she scoffed. "Such a nice word for ripping me away from my life and family."

"Yes, and if it saves your life, wasn't it worth it, then?" he argued from some distance behind her, and she heard how his steps accelerated when he seemed to realize where she headed. "T-this is the tower we're searching for!" She felt like there was relief in his voice, too, if for wholly other reasons. She was sick and tired of this place and its company. There had been nothing but darkspawn, stinking bogs, opaque waddles of mist obscuring her sight, and humid, foul air to breathe for endless hours now. At this point, she would gladly return to the camp she had called her prison before.

"The chest... The treaties..." Suppressing a groan at the human's alert voice, she rushed upwards to see what he had found - only to let it out when she arrived and saw the scene for herself. Underneath the remnants of spiraling stone stairs stood a heavy metallic chest, like the Warden leader shemlen said it would. Though instead of finding it sealed as thought, the lid of it had been burst into many sharp bits, and its contents..._ missing_. Lenya reached up to rub her forehead in annoyance, which only served to smear the blood stuck there further across her face. _Ugh_.

"Oh, perfect. This whole bloody trek has been for nothing then, eh?" one of the two idiots said behind her. While she had never bothered to learn their names, nor cared much for their existence in general, she found herself agreeing with the rogue's sentiment.

The whiny knight looked like he was about to cry. _Again_. "What are we going to do no-"

"Well, well, what have we here?" Lenya jerked around at the sudden, haughty voice. It belonged to a woman who had appeared suddenly on the ruin above them. One look was enough to ascertain that this was no ordinary human. Long jet-black hair was tied back to frame an oval face, and pale yellow eyes regarded them with mocking amusement from above.

Wrapped around and across her chest and midsection was a long, flowing crimson scarf, secured in place by a dark brown belt. It contrasted with the black of the mixture of leather and cloth she wore underneath. The outer layers formed a robe that hung askew yet snugly over her lean hips, while thick leather leggings and near thigh high, black boots completed the other part of her outfit. Her ornamented golden shoulder pad was adorned with beads and feathers as dark as the leathery sleeve protecting her whole left shoulder down to her wrist. It stood in stark disparity against the paleness of the near-naked skin of her right arm.

Taking a few steps forward, Lenya watched how the witch slowly descended the ramp with confidence and a sauntering grace. "Are you a vulture, I wonder? A scavenger poking amidst a corpse whose bones have been long since cleaned? Or merely an intruder, come into these darkspawn filled wilds of mine in search of... easy prey?"

While she wore a skinning knife within the belt around her hips, it was the rough wooden staff strapped to her back that caused the fools behind her to gasp and step back in fear. Lenya, however, felt no such urge - quite the contrary. For the first time ever, she found herself wanting to know more about another person _outside _of her clan.

Coming to a stop at the end of the stone ramp, the woman's eyes snapped to her, her tone demanding. "What say you, hmm? Scavenger, or intruder?"

"Neither," Lenya replied, holding her sharp gaze with ease. "But I'm weary of running around in '_ your _' Wilds, only to find the very thing we came for is missing."

"Missing? Hmm, 'tis most curious. I have watched your progress for some time, you know." She started to circle around the group in a measured stride, like a predator on a prowl. "'Where do they go,' I wondered, 'why are they here?' - And now you disturb ashes none have touched for so long. Why is that?"

Alistair leaned in toward Lenya, his voice a not-so-discreet whispered warning. "Do not speak to her. She looks Chasind, and that means others may be nearby."

"What?" the witch flashed him a sardonic smile that indicated well enough how little she cared for his opinion. _That_ she already had in common with her, at least. The woman threw her half-gloved hands up in a sudden, mocking manner. "You fear barbarians will swoop down upon you?"

"Yeeees, swoooooping is baaaad." _Ugh _. The way the Warden shem dragged and drawled his words really grated on Lenya's already thin nerves and patience.

"She's a Witch of the Wilds, she is! She'll turn us into toads!" One of the fools behind her thought it was a good moment to add his own needless, inane comment to the matter. His eyes fixed on the mage were as wide in fear as a docile deer in front of a hunter's bow. Nor did his hands ever inch away from the hilts of his daggers.

"Good," Lenya quipped, pointing at the men over her shoulder. "If you do so, please start with the three idiots behind me."

Amused by the unexpected answer, she turned back to the Dalish. "You seem to be quite unimpressed by all this, elf. Nor are you afraid. 'Tis curious why a seemingly smart woman travels with such... _simple _companions."

"I wonder about that myself actually," Lenya said with shrug of her shoulder. "It was not by choice, that is for sure."

"Hey!" the Warden shem protested, like an over-sized _da'len _getting scolded. Lenya couldn't care less.

Closing the distance between herself and the witch, she crossed her arms. "Amusing as it is to see them squirming in fear of you like little boys, will you finally tell me what happened to the contents of that Grey Warden chest?"

"Perhaps." She observed her with open interest as she leaned on the broad trunk of a dead tree. If you give me your name, Dalish. Let us be civilized."

_"En'an'sal'en, _my name is Lenya Mahariel of the Sabrae clan," she spoke without thinking and winced as soon as her clan's name went over her lips. Like salt upon an open wound, the mere mention of... _them _burned inside. "Or...I _was _," she added, much quieter, averting her gaze.

"My, such manners." Her fine, dark eyebrow arched up in amusement, but her smile seemed genuine. "What a rare thing to find here in these Wilds. And you may call me Morrigan." Crossing her arms, she let out a long breath. "What you search is here no longer, obviously."

"'Here no longer?' You _stole _them, didn't you? You're... some kind of... sneaky... witch-thief!"

Look who was talking. The thieving shem accusing _others_ of thieving. Oh, the irony. Lenya's hands flexed into fists. She struggled with the wish to turn around and punch him in the throat just to render him blessedly silent for a creators-damn moment. Instead of giving in to this urge, she rolled her eyes and groaned; in unison with Morrigan, as it turned out.

"...but 'twas not I who took it," she finished, pointedly ignoring his inane comment.

"Who did, then?"

"T'was my mother, in fact." Pushing herself off the trunk she leaned against, she stalked over to the Dalish. "You do not assume I spawned from a log, do you?"

"A thieving, weird-talking log, perhaps." Unasked, the Warden shem doubled down on comments after being ignored, though he was yet again met with all-too justified indifference.

"So...will you take me to her, then?" Lenya asked and rolled her eyes once more. "Since it seems that we are forbidden from returning without these damn documents. Whatever they are."

"Now that is a sensible request. I _like _you." Morrigan gave her a look of approval." I can take you to her, yes. 'Tis not far from here, in fact."

"They are old Grey Warden treaties, and you better give them back!" the Warden shem blustered once more, this time earning himself an annoyed stare from the witch.

"Invoke a name that means nothing to me here, I care not," she sneered at him. "Least of all I care whether you morons follow me back to my mother's hut or cower in fear here." She turned back to Lenya, her tone much friendlier. "Come then. Follow me, if it pleases you."

As intrigued as she was by this human, Lenya did not need to be told twice.

.

.

* * *

.

Morrigan expertly led them through a narrow path with gnarled, old trees towering overhead on both sides, and around bogs they would have surely stumbled in without her guidance. After taking one last turn, the path opened up in a clearing and from behind the low-hanging shroud of mist a withered hut came partly into view. The white haze on the ground seemed to dance and twist around them as they approached the small, slanted building.

Pikes of wood stuck out ominously of its green and halfway muddy grass top roof. Wisps of silver grey smoke curled and danced their way through the thick, hazy air from three fine slits within the roof. Broad lines of moss climbed up the hut's windowless stonewall front like a sickly green tapestry, clinging to the crevices and cracks within.

In front of its massive door, its wood painted dark with age and decay, stood an old woman who seemed to be expecting them. Her robe was formed mostly of thick brown furs, and the dark leather underneath looked similar to what Morrigan wore.

"Mother, here I bring you the four Wardens..."

"I'm not blind, dear. I can see them-" Morrigan's mother laughed with easy amusement, her shortish white hair shaking with the motion. Her eyes, yellow in color as well, stood out from behind a stripe of jet-black, painted horizontally across her face and eyes. Due to that, Lenya found it hard to look at her- but maybe this was exactly its intended purpose. As the old witch stepped closer to the group to observe them, she felt the three shemlen behind her shrink back from her approach.

"Hmm, as expected," she mused, her voice as dark as the paint around her eyes. Her wrinkly, old and seemingly frail appearance was deceiving, for Lenya could practically feel the magic thrumming in the air and prickling upon her skin - even through the thick leather of her armor. Without a doubt, the old witch was the source of it all.

"Are we supposed to believe you were expecting us?"

Eyes flitting over to the tall Warden, she let out a sharp guffaw. "You are required to do nothing, least of all believe. Shut one's eyes tight or open one's arms wide... either way, one's a fool!"

"_Asha'belannar_. The woman of many years," Lenya blurted out, so suddenly that all heads turned toward her and stared. Finally, she remembered it again. The stories her clan told in the evenings over the campfire - whispered words of fears and admiration for a powerful witch that had lived amidst the hostile landscape of the Korcari Wilds for many decades, maybe even centuries. "That is what my people call you. You are a friend of the Dalish. Or so they say," she quickly added, fidgeting with the buckle of her armor to quell her nerves.

Her sallow, sunken cheeks rose in a toothy smile. "Ah, you are of the People, of course. So young and bright, and yet so much of you is unknown." Another cackle. "But at least I'm not called _old _by your kind."

"She is a witch. We shouldn't talk to her; she will turn us into toads."

Her eyes flashed wickedly at one of the two human idiots. "Hmm, actually I'd prefer to cook your flesh and then tear it from your bones." She laughed as they both shuddered, taking delight in their fear. "Such anxious little boys they are, hmm? If you had listened to the young lady, you'd know you don't have to be. I'm _just _a woman of many years, after all."

"Sooo, this is a dreaded Witch of the Wilds?" the Warden shem drawled, a snort following his words. Unlike the other two humans, he appeared unafraid, somewhat amused even. Odd, considering his open hostility and distrust toward Morrigan before.

Looking at him, _Asha'belannar _cocked her head with a wicked grin. "Witch of the Wilds, 'eh? Morrigan must have told you that. She fancies such tales, though she would never admit it! Oh, how she dances under the moon." Ending her words with a cackle, she seemingly laughed at her own joke.

Behind her, Morrigan covered her face with her hand and sighed, long and loud. "They did not come to listen to your wild tales, Mother." This was indeed correct, but it was still amusing to see how even age-old witches never failed to embarrass their children. Lenya's mouth twitched as she observed how Morrigan pinched the bridge of her nose and let out some quiet, yet colorful curses her extended elvhen hearing was able to catch.

"True, they came for their treaties, yes?" came the noncommittal answer with a shrug. She waved her hand, which made the two idiots gasp and step back, and suddenly held a yellowed, rolled up stack of papers. Stepping toward the Warden in their group, she handed it to him. "And before you begin barking, your precious seal wore off long ago. I have protected these."

"You... _protected _them?" The shem looked down, blinking at the documents in his hands.

"And why not?" The many wrinkles in her face deepened further as she frowned, though it was short-lived. "Just remember to tell your Grey Wardens that this blight is bigger than they expect. Or maybe they do expect it. Who am I to know? I'm just a _woman of many years _with a penchant for moldy parchments. Oh, do not mind me. You have what you came for!" She chuckled lightly before looking at her daughter. "Since those are your guests, Morrigan, lead them out of the Wilds, would you?"

Morrigan let out a displeased groan, but eventually complied with her mother's wish and turned to go. "Very well then. Follow me. _Again_."

.

.

* * *

.

Thanks to Morrigan's guidance, however reluctant, the way out of the Wilds had been much quicker. Her ability to lead the group around any darkspawn horde helped save much precious time as well. As soon she had been certain they could manage on their own, the witch had quietly slipped away, leaving them standing at Ostagar's gate. Back to where they started so many hours ago.

Lenya regretted seeing her go, though even she found herself glad to be back in camp. While she preferred and felt more comfortable in the wilderness than in a massive stone fortress like Ostagar, the Korcari Wilds were a strange, hostile place barren of any nature she was used to.

"Home sweet home, 'eh, lass?"

Not answering, Lenya shuddered and rubbed her leather-clad arms. The idiot addressing her was not to blame for the sudden goosebumps, however, but a gust of harsh wind, creeping underneath her armor with its briskness. The fading of the sunlight had also meant the fading of the heat. Torches flickered within their wall sconces, their warm yellowish gleam the only source of light in the otherwise pitch black night. She glanced up, seeing the moon standing high and nearly full within a matte black canvas. The stars were hidden behind a solid tuft of clouds. Trekking through the Wilds had taken all day and some of the evening too, leaving her longing for a meal and a bit of rest.

"Well, good to be back, that is for sure," the Warden shem said, rolling his shoulders. "I have to report back to Duncan first, so feel free to clean up and grab a bite to eat." He pointedly looked at her. "Don't stray too far however, since you don't want to miss your own Joining, right?"

She rolled her eyes at him. "Yes, that would be such a shame."

"The J-joining?" Ser Whiny Knight did what he had excelled at in the hours before: complaining. Lenya would never understand why humans called such a simpering weakling a _knight_, least of all why the Warden leader recruited him. "Even more tests? Have I not earned my place?"

"Oh, shut the fuck up," she groused and stormed away.

"Well Jory, you heard the lady," she heard the other idiot say before she had put enough distance between them and herself.

.

.

* * *

**Change Notes: **

Except for a few sentences here and there, I scrapped the entire old chapter(s). and only kept the Morrigan and Flemeth scene as they (mostly) happen in canon. Lenya surprised me this chapter about how candid she already was toward Alistair here, even if it was just through an outburst. I had planned to let her be much more stoic/broody, but as always the girl has a mind of her own :)

Reviews are most welcome.


	4. Enigma

**A/N:** _The long awaited conclusion to the Ostagar arc in a meaty chapter. Finally, Lenya will be able to counteract the corruption inside of her with... more corruption? And right after she is tasked to go to a tower with her fellow Warden, and light a beacon there. Easy right? Because whatever could go wrong with that? (Spoiler alert: Everything)_

_This chapter had been originally written and published on Ao3 in end of october 2017. If you want to see the up-to-date version of this story, come find me on Ao3 under the same nickname (Merilsell) and story name (Of Elves And Humans: Redux). Enjoy?_

_._

**New day comes again**  
**And it laughs in your face**  
**Whispering secrets of pain**  
**By all its names**  
**What flame could burn out the stain**  
**Of a life misplaced?**

-Poets Of The Fall - Moonlight Kissed

.

**Chapter 4: Enigma**

.

Despite the lateness of the hour, Ostagar was still abuzz with activity. People stood in groups around a small campfire and talked, while flat-eared servants squirreled about the main area to heed the orders of their masters like good, trained dogs. Lenya headed south, up the stone ramp where the wounded lay on makeshift cots. A young human woman knelt in between two cots and pressed a cloth to the feverish forehead of a soldier. He moaned weakly at intervals, but otherwise didn't move. Lenya couldn't tell if it was the soldier from the Wilds, nor did she care to find out.

Around her, a small group of people dispersed; the shem proclaiming words of their god had fallen silent. Wrinkling her nose, she decided to get away from this depressing place again, though before she was able to said shem nearly ran into her.

The woman wore a wide, odd robe with some sort of sun symbol on its chest, gray and pale red in color. Her creamy-white face was hidden behind a transparent cloth veil, belonging to the even odder hat which left only her mouth visible. "Oh, pardon me, my lady." She took a double take at her, which was unsettling enough, given Lenya couldn't see her eyes hidden by the veil. "Ah, I suspect you are one of the new Grey Wardens?" __Not yet, __she thought and turned to go, but the shem was nothing if not persistent. "You are a Dalish wanderer, I presume?"

"Wow, figured that out on your own while looking at my __vallaslin__, huh?" Stopping with a scoff, Lenya turned back to her. "How __smart__."

Her priorly upturned lips fell into a straight line. Didn't matter, she was full of shit anyway. "There is no need to be so hostile, Warden. The Maker will not refuse to bless you if you are willing to receive Him."

"Oh, and if you are not, He crushes your home and kills your people?" she quipped in the most sarcastic tone possible, while observing how her mouth started to twitch more and more. It was amusing, in a way, how utterly predictable some, if not all, humans were. Especially if one failed to answer or react as they had expected from her. In this case, to smile and accept a foreign god's blessing, one in whose name countless atrocities had been done to her people, like a docile sheep.

__Hah, never.__

"Then begone with you." The human whirled away with a huff. "I will not entertain your bigotry and hatred."

__Pot meets kettle, __Lenya thought with a shrug and left east toward the kennels.

"He looks better already. I'm sure he'd thank you himself, if he could. Let's give him a day or two to recover." The kennel master, who looked like the Warden leader, smiled at her, obviously pleased with her ability to retrieve the flower. "Why not come back after the battle? Perhaps we can see about imprinting him on you."

Lenya frowned up at him. "Imprinting?"

"Oh right, you Dalish don't have dogs, least of all mabari, right?"

She shook her head, finding no offense in his words. It was true, after all. "We don't __own __animals like shemlen do. It is wrong, unnatural."

"Well," he breathed out a laugh. "Then you are in luck, for a Mabari isn't owned. It chooses its master for itself and forms an equal, lifelong bond with them. Which is what we call 'imprinting'."

"I see," she hummed, unsure if she even wanted to commit to such a thing. "Would that even be possible?"

"Maybe. It's likely he understands that you're responsible for curing him, since Mabari are at least as smart as your average tax collector. Come back after the battle and just... take another look," he said, stepping forward to put some small round, metallic objects into her hands. "Before I forget, here is something for your trouble."

Lenya looked down and recognized it as money. Oddly enough, she had found some of it on the corpses of darkspawn earlier. Creators knew __why __even. Probably because they looked shiny? Then again, these rotten bastards had no sense for beauty or possessions, only for destruction and death.

Gods, she hated them.

And still, just like them, she had no sense of how much the money she held now was worth or what it could buy. Growing up within the borders of her clan, there had never been a need for a currency. All items, weapons and food were distributed and shared equally among the clan. It had always been a given to do so, as natural as breathing. Only a few selected hunters who traded with outside sources were knowledgeable in these matters. Lenya, considered too young and too brash for these delicate affairs by the elders, hadn't been one of them.

Pocketing the coins in her belt bag, she decided to find out their worth from the one merchant she had seen still up and about. There was still enough time before meeting the others for the big, grand Joining the Warden shem never could shut up about. Of course the damn __Felasil __hadn't even told her where it would take place. Typical.

She had found the place after all - and immediately wished she hadn't.

__"Not all who drink the blood will survive, and those who do are forever changed. This is why the Joining is a secret. It is the price we pay."__

Lenya stared at the Warden leader, who had just gutted the Whiny Knight for refusing to drink the darkspawn blood after the other idiot had choked to death on it. Well, at least she hadn't wasted time learning their names. Overall, it was somehow a fitting continuation for a very shitty day.

It had grown deathly silent. Aside from her own heartbeat racing in her ears and her frenzied breathing, there was no sound. The Warden shem had shrunken back to the opposite wall, not daring to look at her or his leader anymore. Glancing down at Duncan's hand, she saw him holding his dagger. From its tip still dripped blood, which also continued to pour out of the shem's now limp body on the ground.

As the wind turned, the air carried the rusty scent of freshly spilled blood to her, making her stomach turn. She had never been squeamish, but seeing someone getting killed was different than taking an active part in it. Lenya could taste the bile on her tongue and tried to swallow it again as sweat started to bead on her forehead. Her eyelids fluttered, and the place around her began spinning. No, no, __no__. She would not pass out like a dainty human princess after seeing some blood. It wasn't only that, however, but the accumulation of many things finally coming to a head. Exhaustion, hunger, thirst - basic needs ignored all day, on top of the corruption roaring inside of her. Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to stay afloat, on her feet. Lenya swallowed heavily, yet more and more bile rose up, filling her mouth.

Somewhere, __somehow __, she heard her name being called. It sounded distant, like it was coming from worlds away. Armored footsteps upon stone formed a cumbersome staccato, its sound drawing closer every second. Then they stopped, unlike the bile that had now turned her nausea into heaving. Bending over, Lenya emptied the scarce contents of her stomach at its - __his __\- feet, a fitting sentiment to it all. As soon she had regained some semblance of control over her body, she whipped around to rush toward the closeby stone pillar.

"You cannot leav-"

"Maker, Duncan, give her a moment!" His tone was barbed and clipped, speaking of anger even to her momentarily muffled hearing.

Lenya would have stopped to wonder __why__ this shem raised his voice against his idolized leader for her were it not for her overwhelming nausea. Hands on her knees, she continued to heave and spit into the patch of grass until nothing was left. Trembling, her knees threatened to buckle under her. To counteract it and stabilize herself, she put a hand against the stone and welcomed its cool solidness underneath her clammy fingertips. She gasped in short, rapid breaths, then slowed down for more even, longer intakes of air. They quickly morphed into laughter that scratched within her throat, demanding release. It was madness. Her laughter was too, yet most of all the notion of counteracting the corruption inside of her with even __more__ corruption.

This was no cure.

But what choice did she have? She was dead either way. It didn't matter if she tried to run as if __Fen'harel__were at her heels or choked on darkspawn blood like the human had. And even if she succeeded in outrunning this damn __Dahn'direlan __once more, the corruption inside would soon kill her...or __worse __. She had heard stories. Vague yet clear tales which made her want to turn around and start heaving again. Her laughter subsided. No, what she must do was obvious. She couldn't give up or give __in __to this sickness, not now. Not ever. __Tamlen… __she squeezed her eyes shut against the agony twisting and ripping at her insides. She couldn't even complete the sentence in her mind. What she could do, however, was turn back and face them – __it.__

So with one last deep intake of oxygen, ignoring the metallic tang of blood upon her tongue, Lenya did exactly that. For she was Dalish, and she wouldn't submit. Not to the sickness nor to the darkspawn. __Especially__ not to the darkspawn, those fucking bastards. To the taint? Yes, it was a necessary evil, not only in order to survive but also to be able to combat them more effectively. Should she still perish upon drinking, ugh, __that__, she swore she would return from the Beyond as evil spirit to haunt these damn humans and their shitty order of tainted idiots forever.

Lenya gave the dark-skinned leader shem a baleful glare as she forcefully ripped the silver chalice out of his hands. __Lasa adahl su nar masa__. "Fuck you," she spat in his direction, and drank.

.

.

* * *

.

Alistair caught her before she could hit the ground- __again__. Somehow, this seemed to have become a pattern between them. The same could be said of her tendency to insult the people around her before passing out.

The thought would have amused him if he weren't too scared out of his mind to appreciate its existence. Two of the recruits, __his__ recruits, already lay dead on the ground. He couldn't bear adding a third to the list, not her. As rude, volatile and maddening as she could be, she was also –

"She'll live," Duncan announced after feeling her pulse point, having taken __too long __to do so.

His eyes, which had been screwed shut, flew open, and he looked at her for the first time since she had lifted the cup to her lips. "Thank the Maker!" Alistair breathed and felt a weight the size of a mountain drop from his shoulders.

He didn't miss the odd look Duncan gave him at that, nor the fact that she - Lenya - was currently nestled in his (armored) lap with her head.

"Losing two recruits was brutal. I'm simply glad the third and last one survived at least," he said, too quickly and awkwardly.

"Uh huh." There was that look again. "As long you remember that your duty must always come first, Alistair."

"Maker, Duncan, being glad she survived doesn't equal wanting to marry her!" Right after the sentence had been spoken, he groaned inwardly at the wording of it. __Keep digging your hole, Alistair you may reach Orlais yet.__

"Uh huh," he said again, arching an eyebrow at him.

"Fine," he glowered up at his mentor, who was back on his feet. "You know what, yeah. I'm going to invite you to our wedding. All will be draped in Warden blue, griffons will circle majestically over our heads, and the Mabari she had a soulful conversation with and picked flowers for will be the ringbearer. There - better?"

__Bonjour, my name is Alistair. Is this Orlais?__

Duncan's mouth twitched. "Griffons are extinct; I thought you knew that."

"Haha, very funny."

"I hope you know why I did that..."

"What? Teasing me? Because you are – oh, __that__." Alistair glanced quickly at Jory's bloodied body. "Yeah," he muttered, quieter than he meant to, and frowned. "It is just... all this death..."

"Everyone can die in battle, Alistair. You, me, the soldiers that have sworn fealty to the king, or our fellow Wardens. With the battle so close, some even __will__ die." He sighed to release the tension within him, then his expression hardened again. "All that matters is that the Blight is stopped. At any cost. This is our duty and calling as Grey Wardens."

"Yeah," he repeated, but his heart wasn't in it. Not after seeing Jory be gutted. However needed Duncan proclaimed it to be to protect the order's secrets, his death simply seemed so... senseless. _'___At any cost' __suddenly sounded more like a curse than a motto.

Duncan appeared to sense his apprehension and nudged his shoulder. "Hard day, huh?"

"Hmm," Alistair hummed and smiled slightly at the mirroring of his earlier words. "I suppose tomorrow won't be any better, huh?"

Very briefly, he grimaced. "All signs are indicating the that battle will take place tomorrow, possibly in the late afternoon."

"So that is a big fat no, then. Great."

"Have faith, Alistair. The Blight cannot be allowed to spread, so it has to end here. It __will __end here."

__Now you sound like my weird half-brother.__

"But... first, let us get our new sister somewhere... safe." Duncan peered down at her. She was still sleeping soundly, and Alistair doubted even an archdemon could wake her. "Take her to our camp and then get some rest. You will need it."

He cleared his throat and pointed into the general direction of the bodies. "What about... __them __?"

"I'll deal with that. We will have time to mourn them later." Duncan's lips quirked upwards, if only for second or two. "You better take care of your bride-to-be."

"Very funny, Duncan. Gotta laugh later, though, since I'm busy now." With that, he lifted her into his arms, quietly praying she wouldn't wake up on the long way back - or the impending battle would be the least of his worries.

.

.

* * *

.

Alistair heard Junan long before he was able to see him. The giant man jumped up from his place at the large bonfire within their camp.

"Haha, I __knew __she would pull through." He turned around with a grin toward the freckled, bearded face behind him. "Pay up, Benson."

Still with Lenya in his arms, he stared at them, baleful. "You bet on who would survive?"

"Nothing personal, Alistair." Junan shrugged. "Being a Warden for as long as I have, it's just our way of coping with the stress of a Joining."

"Yeah, that is not twisted or wrong at all."

"What about the other ones?" Benson asked, despite probably already knowing the answer. Alistair only shook his head. "Damn, I thought Daveth would survive as well at least. He would have been a good Warden." He motioned him to follow. "We have prepared a tent you can put her down in. Several, in fact, though we won't need the other ones anymore, I guess. " Quiet as his voice was, he sounded sad? It was weird to see their roles reversed now. Normally Junan was the more thoughtful person, whereas Benson, well, tended to enjoy life to its fullest. Especially those with the letter 'w'; wine and women. Shaking off the thought, he put Lenya down on the prepared bedroll in the narrow tent and closed the flap on his way out.

"Hey Deyron, did you hear?" Junan yelled across the encampment, almost hyper with glee. "You finally get company!"

"Great." The dark-skinned elf let out an noncommittal grunt, waving him off. "Is this the point where you assume that all elves know each other?"

"What?" His face fell. "No, of course not. I'm sorry."

"Ah, don't be. I'm just fucking with you." Deyron snorted."You humans are so gullible."

"What? __You __fucking with me? Such a lie."

His laugh rang brightly through the night. "Come over and we can change that, darling."

__Maker's breath. __Alistair glared into their general direction.

"We better hide or claim the rest of the alcohol for ourselves, or else they will be going at it all night." Stopping at how that sounded, Benson grimaced. "That came out wrong. Or maybe not. They really should it get out of their systems. They bicker like an old married couple for weeks now."

__Oh__. Once more his own inexperience with the subject matter showed. "But I thought-"

"Junan preferring women? Maybe he does." His thick shoulders lifted to a shrug. "There is such a thing as having a varied taste, Junior. You will learn what I mean." Another shrug. "...Or you stay with your girl instead. Everything is fine. Being able to choose is what matters."

"She is not–" Alistair stopped with a sigh. "Wait... what brought this on?" He squinted at him. "Are you drunk, is that it?"

"Nah, it is just... in the face of one's own mortality, every man gets humble." Benson took a large swig out of his bottle and wiped his ginger mustache with the back of his hand when he was done. "The battle is tomorrow and I wanna approach it with clean sheet." He paused. "Well, __cleaner__. So I wanna apologize for dragging you into the Pearl. It had obviously not been what you wanted."

Distracted by the tirade Galen fired at Junan and Deylon for disturbing his sleep, Alistair reacted belatedly to this unexpected apology. "I..__wow __. I appreciate that, really." He heard both of them protesting in a whirl of words before they fell silent, giving in to the Constable's order.

"Come sit with me, Alistair." Benson patted the empty space beside him, next to the warming flames of the campfire. With the commotion being over and dealt with now, only quiet chatter of the fellow Wardens around him remained. Most had already retreated into their tents, wary of the day and battle tomorrow. Alistair shuddered as a chill raced down his spine, and the cold wasn't to blame for it. He didn't look forward to night's sleep, despite his exhaustion reaching near bone-deep. The tension around him and the feel of the approaching horde had become too palpable for that.

He offered him the other bottle of wine he'd cradled in his lap. "A drink? You look like as if you need one. Or... several."

"No, thank you." He plopped down on the log beside Benson, and started to tug at the buckles of his armor. Most of the time he welcomed its comforting weight. Now however, he couldn't wait to get rid of it and dress down to his gambeson; maybe even switch to __normal __clothes. A bit of water to clean up would be nice too. Working on the buckles of his greaves, he grinned up to him. "I'm not really in the spirit for __spirits__."

Beside him, Benson cringed visibly. "Dammit Junior, I am not yet drunk enough for your particular brand of jokes." Yeah, it hadn't been his most clever one, that was for sure. Alistair didn't even know __why __he said that. Maybe to cheer his fellow Warden up, or himself. Alas, it did not work either way.

After that, both remained quiet a long while. Alistair effectively removed his armor piece by piece and stored the parts in a neat pile beside him. He would clean them later, or tomorrow before the battle. Benson only took a pull out of his bottle here and there, while watching him dress down to his gambeson and breeches.

"So how did it go exactly?" Benson asked, after being silent for so long.

The breastplate was the final part he put on the pile, before he glanced at the older man. "Huh?"

"The Joining. What happened?"

Alistair made a face. He wasn't exactly keen to discuss the details of it. "Daveth and Jory weren't strong enough to withstand the taint, obviously."

"Yeah, I noticed that, Junior." Rolling his eyes, he scratched his stubbled chin. "But I rather meant the Dalish."

"Lenya?" He blinked, surprised by his interest in her. Which he probably shouldn't be, given that she was their newest full-fledged Warden.

"Yeah, your girl. Soo?"

Hardly able to suppress the groan upon how Benson kept calling her __that __, he reverted back to the familiarity of sarcasm. "Oh you know, couldn't have been better, really. First she puked on Duncan's shoes, then ran off to the side to finish it there. Coming back, she ripped the chalice out of his hands, and drank. Not without insulting him first, of course."

"Hah, that girl has fire, good for her. The coming months certainly won't be boring with our newest addition."

"That...is one way to put it. She is-" Well, __what __exactly? After the Joining Duncan had interrupted him before he could complete the thought. Now where Alistair had the time to think, he failed to put it in words. "-something," he finished lamely, unsatisfied by his choice of word.

"Aye, I noticed." His laugh was deep, chortling. "And I drink to that."

Just as the silence had settled in again between the two men, Duncan appeared within their camp. He went straight toward the bonfire and Alistair. "There you are," his mentor said to him. "Good." He paused for a long intake of air, and drove a hand through his slightly disheveled dark hair. While his face was free of blood now, his armor was still splattered crimson. Like himself, his mentor seemed not had had the time to clean up.

Benson glanced past Alistair at their leader, and frowned. "Commander, you look like you need a drink. And hours of sleep." Sometimes the man sounded more like a nagging mother than a seasoned, middle-aged warrior and Warden.

"Not now. All in good time, Benson," he replied, turning back to Alistair. "Go wake your Warden sister. We have urgent matter to attend."

"Again?" Slowly but sure, Alistair was asking himself if the evening would ever end.

"Yes. The King expects our attendance at his war council. This includes you and our new Warden."

"Huh," Benson mused. "I wonder why he would want two rookies -no offense, Alistair- to partake at his war council?"

Duncan fixed him with a sharp look. "It is not up to you, nor me to question the King's decision. We are here at his behest, and you would do well to remember that."

"Aye, aye, ser!" his fellow Warden muttered, rather sarcastically, and sunk back into his seat. "Well, you better fetch your girl then," he said to Alistair, fidgeting with his quite impressive stash of wine bottles at his feet. "Don't want to keep the King waiting, after all." He handed him one of the open but untouched bottles with a slight grin. "Here take this. She will need it."

Alistair hesitated a moment before taking it. "Why..." he trailed off, while grasping the reason for Benson's generous offer. "... oh __right__."

"I will go ahead," Duncan announced, looking at Alistair. "Please follow to the upper part of the ruins, as soon as you are able. The council is held close by where the Joining took place." Finished with his explanation, Duncan left him to his fate of being the one having to disturb the Dalish's well deserved slumber.

.

.

* * *

.

Her tent was erected nearby, diagonally opposite from the main campfire. Ducking into it with half his body, Alistair saw her still lying on her back, unmoving. "Hey..." His voice was gentle, though he didn't dare to touch her. "Wake up." As expected, or rather, __feared __, she didn't. Lenya continued to sleep like a log; the exhaustion caused by a long day seemed to finally have caught up with her. As much he'd have preferred to let her rest, especially after what happened at the Joining, he couldn't. Not when the King -his half-brother- was the one requesting them to attend.

Sighing, Alistair entered her tent completely, while his heart hammered in his chest. He knelt down next to her bedroll. "Please don't murder me for waking you," he muttered before reaching out to touch her shoulder to give it a gentle shake. The effect of it was almost immediate. Gasping awake, Lenya started up, eyes wide and unfocused. The gleam of the firelight nearby reflected brightly in her dilated pupils, akin to the eyes of cats. He had seen it before with the few elven fellow Wardens in their ranks, but never so... up close.

"Hi." Alistair waved his hand in front of her face. "Sorry to wake you, but -"

"Ugh," she made, sticking out her tongue in a grimace of disgust, and coughed. Oh, right. The famous taste of lingering darkspawn blood after the Joining. He wished he could forget it, but unfortunately it was etched forever into his memories __and __taste buds.

"Wait a moment." Alistair reached for the bottle of wine left outside the tent and handed it to her. Ripping it out his hand like she had done with the Joining chalice earlier, Lenya took a mouthful of wine and swished vigorously. Turning her head to the other side, she spat it out again, as far away from her bedroll as she could muster. She repeated that a few more times before allowing herself to swallow the liquid.

Her breath came out in a harsh rhythm and she grimaced again, eyeing the bottle in her hands now. "What is that?"

"Wine," Alistair supplied, ever so helpful.

"Tastes like halla piss."

He chuckled. "Well, better than darkspawn blood, right?"

"Barely."

"I would love to officially welcome you to the Wardens, but sadly we are lacking the time for a big party."

Looking at him, her eyebrows drew together. "Wait... how did I get here? And why are __you __here, of all people?"

__Ouch__. "You passed out after drinking darkspawn blood, remember? So you, um, were brought here, to the Grey Warden main camp." Alistair omitted the fact that he was the one who carried her here, since he liked to be alive.

"Okay..." Lenya digested the information for a moment. "...Still doesn't explain you being in here, with me."

"I was trying to wake you up, obviously. The King wants us to attend his war council."

"How nice for him. Now go away." Right after, she lay herself back down onto the bedroll, with her face and body turned away from him.

Alistair gaped at her back, momentarily at a loss for her reaction. "Um, I said 'us', right? This includes you as well."

"The shemlen is not __my __King."

"Right." Alistair suppressed the wish to roll his eyes. He should have expected this answer. "But you are a Grey Warden now and the King requested the attendance of Wardens. Particularly of us two." Somehow it was like talking to a child, at least right now. "Look, I know it has been a long day, but you can rest after this is over. And you should, since the battle is tomorrow."

That made her turn around. She stared up at him. "What?"

"You can't feel it - __them__. Not yet, anyway." A chill raced down his spine, the same unsettling kind he felt earlier. Alistair shuddered. "But the horde is steadily closing in. They are said to arrive at Ostagar in massive numbers tomorrow afternoon. Hence why the King holds a war council so late in the evening, I guess."

The sigh Lenya huffed out ended in a groan. She sat up and crossing her arms, her eyes narrowed at him. "Ugh. Fine, I'm coming. Wait outside, then."

Happy to find her agreeable after all, Alistair smiled at her. "That's my-" His mouth plopped shut and very briefly he forgot how to move, or to breathe. He felt rooted in place, mortified by the one word he nearly would have said out loud. __Girl__. It played as a mocking echo within his mind, even as he attempted to somehow salvage the situation. "-new fellow Warden," he finished lamely, and outright fled from her tent.

__Maker's breath. __Heart racing and blushing furiously, Alistair let his head fall into his hands with a groan. Right after the council, he was going to __kill __Benson for calling Lenya 'his girl' as often as he did. Even before the darkspawn would have any chance tomorrow.

"You are a very strange human," she stated, appearing so suddenly next to him that it caused him to jump. Alistair made a mental note to buy and make her wear a little bell which would announce her arrival in advance. Right after he was finished digging the hole to hide in forever, of course.

Looking up to the starless sky, he took a deep breath of the night's crisp air to calm down again. Motioning her to follow, Alistair chuckled ruefully. "You know, you are not the first to tell me that."

.

.

* * *

.

As Lenya had expected, participating at the council had been a giant waste of her time. She still didn't know why she had agreed to it in the first place. Unsurprisingly, the shemlen king was still the same__felaslan __chasing glory and tales that could only lead to doom. And the army shemlen in which all these human fools were putting all their hopes of winning? There was something... unsettling about him, more than with any other shemlen she'd met so far. At least Lenya, together with the Warden shem, would be far away from the main battlefield, lightening some beacon in a tower. A fact about which the tall human sitting across the campfire still seemed to be sulking about.

"I don't like this... Loghain shem," Lenya announced into the silence that had settled over them, ever since their return from... __that__. Most of the other Wardens had already retreated to their tents, leaving the place around the campfire empty. Though with the darkspawn blood still lingering upon her tongue and ghastly pictures of its horde in her mind, Lenya didn't feel like sleeping yet.

The human had his arms wrapped around his knees, and stared into the flames. Even without his otherwise perpetual Warden uniform, his stature was still imposing. His broad shoulders sank further down as he snorted. "You don't like anyone, Lenya."

"True," she confessed, unfazed. "Nor do I need to." __Least of all shemlen. __"But he has something... unsettling. It is his eyes, I think."

He gave her a quick, sharp look. "Teyrn Loghain is our best chance of winning the battle tomorrow. He is a national hero and his expertise in warfare and strategy is unmatched. But you don't like him because of his __eyes__?"

Of course the humans would band together and defend each other, like a pack of wolves. Her expression hardened to a scowl. "Forget I said anything, shemlen."

"Right..." The shemlen sighed, with a scowl of his own. "Already done."

Ignoring his needless quip, Lenya focused on preparing healing salves out of the herbs collected and purchased. An unprepared hunter was a bad one, after all. For a while the rhythmic clunking of the wooden mortar and pestle became the only sound filling the night's air.

"Did you have dreams?" he asked so suddenly that her hands stilled with the sound of his voice.

"What?"

"After the Joining, I mean," he said, looking at her. "I had terrible dreams."

Her grip around the pestle tightened to a point of near pain as the memories right after the Joining kept flooding back into her mind. Right after the vile concoction had passed her lips, it had left fire in its wake, burning her from the inside. Akin to the fever of the Blight sickness, but far more intense. Then the pictures and voices of darkspawn and... a dragon? had filled her mind, ripping, scratching; a chaotic world of ash and sickly light. All at once and way too much. The ensuing blackness as she passed out soon after had been a blessing in disguise.

She forced her arm to relax, to release the object within her hands. The pestle clattered faintly as it dropped into the vessel. "I don't want to talk about it."

His gaze still lingered at her, much longer than needed. "I... see." The human reached then behind him and resurfaced with a silvery object in his hand. It was a small necklace, she noticed. "Duncan gave me this and, well, it is for you." Leaning forward, he pressed it into her bare hand. It was cold and hard to the touch.

"A gift?" Lenya stared dumbly at the cheap and downright __ugly __jewelry. "You are giving me a __gift?"__Everything in her bristled against the notion, even if, objectively seen, the human couldn't possibly know about the meaning of gift-giving in her culture. This, however, did not make her loathe the object within her hand any less.

"Nooo?" he drawled, noticing her ire. "It's given to all Wardens as a way to remember the brothers and sisters we lost in the ritual."

Lenya gave it a closer look. Shaped like a teardrop, the delicate silver vial seemed heavier than it had a right to be. "We call it the Warden's Oath. Most of us choose to wear it at all times to signify the burdens we carry," he continued to explain, his voice solemn."It contains a portion of the darkspawn blood we used in the Joining."

"Eww." Now this was just... disgusting. Was it not enough how she couldn't escape their taint and corruption anymore? Did she have to wear their blood not only within her veins but also around her neck like a sick, twisted trophy? "I don't want it."

The shem glared at first at her outstretched arm with the necklace, then at her. His voice dropped lower, adapting a biting sarcastic undertone. "Too bad, it is yours. No __take backsies__. Like you being a Grey Warden now. Get used to it."

"What?" Lenya couldn't believe her ears, nor his audacity. Anger boiled up like a hot wave and pounded at the sides of her skull. "I had a life before this, shem. A __good __life, with my people, my clan. I was good in my role there, content as a hunter. I never asked to be here, to fight a shemlen battle. I wanted none of it!"

His hazel-colored eyes narrowed upon her with a sneer. "And yet you are here. Must suck then, huh?"

"You know, I wanted to thank you for speaking up for me earlier before the Joining." Blinking away angry tears, Lenya jumped up from her seat. She would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry. Not now, not ever. "But honestly? Fuck you! You shemlen are all the same!"

"Oh how very mature," he snapped back at her in the same loud voice. The human was also on his feet and looming over her with his sheer body mass and height.

Glaring up at him for another moment, the Dalish whirled round and stormed off toward her tent. The necklace made a satisfying hissing sound as she threw it in the fire, which of course this asshole noticed.

"How dare you? You can't do that!" Predictably, he was livid about its destruction. __Good__. Lenya noticed him following her, only a mere step or two behind. "Hey!" Still she didn't stop her flight until she had reached her tent and closed the flaps behind her. Just in time to bite her fist in the effort to muffle her sobs, she no longer could hold at bay.

"Leave her be, Alistair!" she heard the Warden leader's voice say. He must have been woken up by their fight and its sheer volume.

"But she disrespects everything we stand for!" The shemlen's shadow loomed still large through the thin canvas of her tent, as if rooted in place. Even if she didn't want to see or hear them, she __had __to. Unlike with the __aravals __made of thick, sturdy wood to endure and protect against cold winters, a tent was only an imitation of a place, with the mere illusion of privacy. Trying to ignore his shadow and presence demanding her to come back, to justify herself to him, like a __good elf __should in presence of a human, she knelt down to her bedroll.

__Never again shall we submit, __Lenya thought in defiance. Though doing so only added another pang of wistfulness to the painful realization of how alone and lost she felt here in __their __camp. It wasn't __hers__, especially not __ours __and never would be. A shuddering whimper escaped between the fist pressed within her mouth, far too loud. She hated herself for it, for this weakness, and everything else of it, too.

The Warden leader sighed out loud, then there was a rustling sound of a tent's flaps being open. "Come here, Alistair," he said and finally the shadow in front of tent reluctantly moved away, until it had vanished from her blurred, teary-eyed sight. She thought of them then, her people, and wondered what they did right now. New tears formed within her eyes, leaving a wet, burning trail in its wake as they rolled down her cheeks. Did they miss her too? Or were they glad to be finally rid of their troublemaker?

__Oh Tamlen, __she thought, his name leaden with guilt in her mind. __What have I done?__

"Have I ever told you how __I __was recruited into the Wardens?" she heard Duncan ask the other human as she curled herself into a ball on the bedroll, making herself as small as possible. Not being able to sleep, Lenya listened to his story of being a former thief targeting the wrong person and being conscripted as punishment. Of an expedition to some place called The Deep Roads with the former king soon after and of his elven mage friend long ago, until the Beyond finally __finally __claimed her for fitful slumber.

.

.

* * *

.

Flemeth cocked her head as she squinted up at the sudden charcoal sky. Clotted black clouds sprawled across the horizon, billowing in from the south, along with the horde, she knew. Sickly violet lightning forked through the gray pall, almost in tune with the rolling thunder. Rain started to pour down, heavy like stones. It drenched Flemeth's fur robe in mere moments.

And yet the old witch didn't move. She outstretched her arms to the sides and cackled. Everything was as she had it foretold.

"Is it time, mother?" Morrigan's approach silenced her laughter, if only long enough for a reply.

"Yes, my dear. It indeed is. Be so kind and prepare everything for our soon arriving guests, yes?"

Flemeth could practically hear the roll of her daughter's eyes as she sighed. "Yes, mother. I will."

"Good girl." She turned back, her golden gaze fixed toward the sky as her limbs slowly grew, shifting into something much bigger. They twisted further into a gigantic mass of muscles and scales, until her old humanoid form no longer existed. Flemeth roared out and shook the earth with its volume. Beating her massive wings, she soared into the blackened sky, toward her goal.

If everything was indeed how the witch had foreseen it, she already knew __exactly __where to find them.

.

.

* * *

.

"Maker's breath! What are these darkspawn doing ahead of the rest of the horde? There wasn't supposed to be any resistance here!"

Halting on the top of the stairs to the first floor of the damn tower they had fought their way through, the Warden shem never failed to point out the obvious. Thunder cracked outside, mixing with the dull roar of battle, which halted her reply.

Lenya turned to him and rolled her eyes. "Perhaps you can try telling them then how they are in the wrong place?"

"Hah, yes," he snorted, using his perpetual sarcasm. "Of course it is all just a misunderstanding. We will laugh about later!"

Lenya let out a groan. She still hadn't forgiven him for last night, despite his attempt to clear the air prior to the battle. And given his still caustic tone toward her, the apology could only have been meant halfhearted. Stuck as she was with the shem here in the tower, it was all moot anyway.

"At any rate, we need to hurry and to get up to the top of the tower to light the signal fire in time!" he nearly yelled, sounding somewhat panicked. "Teyrn Loghain will be waiting for the signal!"

"Yes, because you haven't mentioned this in the last __five __minutes. So thanks for reminding me, __fellow Warden! __" Giving her an irritated look for the comment, the human took the helm, running forward as eager as a halla calf finding its first clover in spring. The two other shemlen men, a mage and a warrior, whom they had found outside the tower warning them of the darkspawn, followed his questionable lead into the new area. Her fingers clasped around her blades and with a prayer to __Elger'nan, __she set herself into motion, ready for another fight.

What both Wardens lacked in verbal understanding, they equaled out with battle prowess. Lenya had noticed it before, in the Wilds, that he was far above average with his fighting abilities. It was a bit raw around the edges and __too eager__, maybe, though her own training was far from being perfected yet. Of course it sufficed enough to survive here and slay whatever simple-minded darkspawn mistook her for easy prey, but her clan's hunter training didn't __exactly __include the killing of them or other otherworldly beasts. However, being a hunter also meant being able to adapt to new, unexpected situations, to improvise in order to make the kill in the end of a hunt.

And so Lenya fell in step with her fellow Warden, observed where he struck and where he missed, then add her own attack. Finding a rhythm with him here came with frightening ease, especially given how they were like fire and water otherwise. Though here, in fighting, their disparity paid off. Where he applied raw strength and force, Lenya completed the attacks with finesse, speed and dexterity. Using an opening was easy when the aggression of the opponent was drawn to the taller, broader target, or if it was stunned by a bash of his griffon-winged kite shield. Of course she was by far not passive in her own attacks, offering her fellow Warden equally as many opportunities for a kill as he did for her. This method made quick work of every group of darkspawn encountered, letting them progress through the first floor faster than thought.

Having cleared the large area of darkspawn with the aid of some mabari hounds released from their cages, the tower guard rested his hands on his knees. He looked at her while gasping for air. "You are a good fighter for a -"

"Yes, I am." She whirled round to the human, her bloodied blades still in hands. The implication of his sentence made her want to use them on him. "And if you would be a better one, shemlen, I wouldn't have to do all the work."

"Now now," the mage raised his free hand in the effort to placate. "Let us rather concentrate on reaching the beacon than to argue."

"Yes, exactly." Lenya suppressed the urge to groan. As good her fellow Warden was whenever he concentrated on stabbing things, as irritating she found him whenever he opened his mouth. "The stairs to the second and last floor must be not far from here. I think it is across the other room."

"Oh, the one with the closed door and a horde behind it?"

He threw her a lopsided grin over his shoulder. "__Yeeep__. You know the drill."

.

.

* * *

.

Of course reaching the beacon and simply being able to light it would have been too easy. There had to be a at least ten feet tall creature in their way.

The monster's head perked up at the sound of their approach, and it swung round to face them. Its scarred, leathery skin was a dull blue-gray in color, with crude leather armor bits tied to its muscular frame and limbs with lengths of rope and chain. Thick, twisted horns stuck from each side of its massive forehead, looking similar to a corrupted and very ugly version of a halla. The beast's scarred face contorted into a snarl of rage, its wide mouth baring large fangs partly yellow with decay and partly crimson from its feast. Blood still dripped from the corners of it's mouth, and strips of human flesh were hurled in their direction as it roared.

Grimacing, Lenya side-stepped the bloodied projectiles and spittle, and readied her blades. She shot a glance toward her fellow Warden. "Let me guess, __this __is an ogre?"

Open-mouthed he stared at it, like the other two humans behind him. Gripping his shield harder, he only nodded.

"Well then..." She glared up at it, her mind already searching for a point of attack. "... I hope you are done soiling your underwear."

"Y-yes, of course." He exhaled rapidly as he stabilized his stance. "Let's do this."

Due to the sheer mass of the beast, it was easier said than done. Its thick hide caused most of their attacks to be ineffective. A bolt of the tower guard's crossbow whizzed past her head and bore itself into the ogre's chest, giving them momentarily respite.

"Weak points?" Lenya yelled at him, already moving away from where she stood. Remaining in place would mean a certain death after all. "You are the Warden here."

"Funny," he gasped, stabbing the back of its massive foot. "And here I thought I saw you drinking darkspawn blood." The ogre howled out in pain and quickly lashed around. Observing her fellow Warden, an idea came to her mind. Naturally the monster was unlike anything she ever fought or hunted before, yet still somewhat similar to a bear in mannerism. Unlike a bear however it depended on its two stumpy feet, instead of being able to alter its stance like the forest animal. Taking away that mobility would rob the ogre almost all of its deadliness and turn it into easy prey.

"What you did worked," Lenya yelled toward him, and broke into a sprint. She ducked under its massive claws grabbing for her and slid in between the gap of its feet to reach its backside. "Keep its focus on you!"

"__What __?"

She slashed her blade across the tendril of one foot. "Just do it!"

Its outcry as it momentarily sank to its feet proved her instincts to be right. Just as Lenya wanted to repeat the attack at the other foot, the ogre lashed out blindly, maddened by pain. Being one step too late, its wide sweep hurled her fellow Warden into a stack of barrels.

"No. No. Shit," she cursed, thankful for the directly ensuing electric current of the mage, which stunned the beast long enough to finally complete her action. The ground shook with the ogre's mass as it fell down, rendered immobile but still alive. Running up to it, Lenya jumped on its chest to slit its throat, keenly aware of its claws still being able to crush her. It took her several attempts to get a clean, lethal cut across the correct artery of its neck, but eventually the ogre stilled and bled out on the tower's floor.

Sheathing her bloodied weapons in a haste, Lenya ran over to the barrels on the adjacent side, afraid of what she would find there. The human lay within its splintered, wooden remains and did not move. Her gloved fingers jolted to her belt bag, hoping to find the vial of magic potion there the elder mage had gifted her before the battle. Thankfully the vial was still in her bag, its glass unbroken. Lenya uncorked it with shaky fingers. To be able to give it to him however, she needed him to be awake first. Kneeling down next to his unconscious body, she saw his armored chest rising up and down. He was still breathing. __Oh good. __She repeatedly patted his face. "Hey... wake up!"

"Is he-" one of the shemlen behind her tried to ask.

"Shut up," she snapped into their general direction, cutting off his words. __No, he is not__. He couldn't. As annoying as he was, death wasn't something she would wish upon him. "Creators, you stupid human, wake up, dammit!" Still nothing, but she tried anew, with a gentle shove this time. " ...Alistair!"

His eyes flew open, as if reacting to the unusual sound of his name on her lips. He yelped in a labored breath, right before his face contorted to a mask of pain. "Oww," he managed, bringing his hand up to hold his side.

"Here, drink this." Lenya helped him to sit up, at least far enough to be able to swallow the potion.

"Did I... -" His words were interrupted by small gulps as he downed the concoction. The magic effect of it was almost immediate and... Alistair's prior pained breathing normalized. Enough for him to speak and complete his sentence even, alas. "... hit my head too much, or did you call me by name just now?"

Jumping back up to her feet, Lenya turned away with a huff. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing her expression.

Sitting up, he looked past her bloodied form toward the ogre's massive corpse in the middle of the room. He chuckled, a low sound. "You... really did it. Wow. ... You __are __really good."

She whirled back to face him and glared down at him. "And why is everyone so surprised about that?"

"I'm not. I have seen you fight before, remember?" her fellow Warden stated, matter of fact. The tower guard offered him a hand to pull him him back up, which he took. "And for what it is worth, Lenya, I'm sorry for last night," he said while picking up his sword and shield from the ground. "Being a Warden means so much for me, so it is hard to grasp if someone doesn't appreciate it. But I'm, um, glad you made it through the Joining."

"You definitely __have __hit your head too much," Lenya muttered under her breath, feeling the need to get away from this human and his surprising and entirely maddening... __sincerity__. She fixed the mage with a look. "You, come with me. We finally have to light this damn beacon."

"Right the beacon. Damn, we are probably already too late for the signal!"

"Well, next time, puppy... don't get hit by an ogre."

The mage made quick work with setting the dry wood ablaze, igniting the beacon. Her fellow Warden frowned at her, somewhat amused. "__Puppy __? Where does this come from?"

Lenya couldn't say and before she was even able to search for a reason, the door banged suddenly open. A swarm of darkspawn poured through the doorway from the lower floors. The tower guard hit the ground with a scream, his throat and chest pierced by arrows. The mage was the next who fell victim to their sudden attack. It all happened too quickly, leaving her no time to react or defend herself. Several arrows hit her in her abdomen and shoulder, the sheer force of it knocking her over.

She hit her head upon the stone and heard Alistair scream, right before passing out.

.

.

* * *

.

The crackle of fire burning was the first sound reaching his senses, mixed with the dull roar of thunder and raindrops trickling upon shattered glass. Slowly Alistair opened his eyes and wondered why he was still able to do so. Sprawled out on the floor in a pool of his own blood, he still lay where the darkspawn had overwhelmed him. His gaze remained bleary, unfocused, and ironically it was the sharp tug of pain inside which gave him some clarity.

Why hadn't the darkspawn finished him off? It made no sense for him to be still alive. Breathing was hard, every intake of air burned in his lungs. He spat out a mouthful of blood and coughed painfully right after. Well, it seemed as it wouldn't take long anymore until death would claim him after all. Blinking fast to clear his sight, Alistair heaved up his head to glance toward his fellow Warden. Lenya lay close by, unmoving, as if dead. Several arrows stuck out from within her abdomen and shoulder.

__Oh no.__

Maybe she was still alive. He had to make sure. Alistair grunted out in pain as he rolled himself from his back to his abdomen in a cumbersome motion. The heat of the flames licked at his bloodied skin as he crouched forward to where she lay. Each movement hurt, ached like fire, but he gritted his teeth and fought through the pain it caused. He had to reach her. If nothing else, Alistair could at least ensure that... she would not have to die alone.

Having finally reached her, Alistair looked down at her completely still form and touched her face. Alistair couldn't feel a pulse with his thick metal gloves and lacked the strength to remove them. All he could do was to keep her company until, until-

__Lenya __...

He realized it then. In the worst possible moment, the word to describe her came to him.

She was... an enigma.

Contradictory in everything, Alistair would have liked to look closer, past her facade of hostility, of hurt. To get to know her better, __longer __than a mere day. But he wouldn't get that now, not even another hour. At least, he wouldn't have to die alone here, nor would she.

It was a bitter solace within the realization of failure, but a solace nonetheless.

__I'm sorry... Duncan.__ __I failed.__

Eyes blurring with unspent tears, Alistair felt his senses growing dull. Not a moment later, he broke down beside her, breathing what seemed to be his last gasp of air.

.

.

* * *

.

The battlefield below her was carnage. Littered with corpses clad in a telltale blue and gray, Flemeth knew that searching for survivors there would be a fruitless and dangerous endeavor. The darkspawn feasted in large hordes upon their bodies and whoever was unlucky enough to have survived the battle was dragged off below the ground. No, her presence was required elsewhere. Beating the wings of her dragon form, she steered toward the right area of Ostagar's ruins, toward the Tower Of Ishal. Halting midair in front of its dome, Flemeth spat a controlled amount of fire at the building to crack its roof open. As an old woman, they couldn't expect her to __walk __all her way up to its top, after all.

Amused by her own humor, the witch landed on the edge of the top of the tower, and transformed back to her human form.

"Ah yes," she clucked her tongue as she approached both Wardens in the middle of the room. "There they are." It was a touching picture to see them lying there together, united in death. Or rather __non-death __, now where she had found them. Just as expected.

Snapping her fingers, Flemeth let a powerful wave of healing magic wash over them to fix the worst of their injuries. It would be a pity should they expire during their flight back to safety, after all.

"Now, children," the witch said, looking down at them. "Let's get you away from this place. It may be lost, but your destinies do not end here."

.

.

* * *

**Change Notes:**

_Newly written chapter, you know the drill by now. It was important to me to breathe in more life into the Wardens at Ostagar a final time, to make the emotional punch all the sweeter. (Junan :( ) and to showcase the Joining from a very introspective/close pov, instead of only rehashing the game scene. I kept the Tower of Ishal quest briefer, and instead focused on the characters (showcasing Lenya's quick grasp of battle and of new situations), and the fallout of it. Ah, sweet sweet angst :D The scenes I have described there are based on an mod, btw._


	5. The Weight Of Living

.

**Chapter 5: The Weight Of Living**

.

The air in the witches' hut was stuffy and smelled of medical herbs, mud and mildew - though Alistair hardly registered any of that. Kneeling next to Lenya's bed, Alistair stared numbly down at her unconscious form. Again and again, his view blurred with unspent tears, stinging within his eyes until they rolled hotly over his cheeks.

__This couldn't be real.__

Even two days after waking up from what should have been his certain death, it still felt like a nightmare he couldn't wake up from. The battle of Ostagar had been lost. The Wardens were dead. Junan, Benson... __Duncan. __They were all __gone__. She - Lenya - and he were all that were left of the Fereldan Wardens now. Alistair covered his mouth with his hand to stifle the sound of the whimper escaping his throat and let his head sink onto the rough straw mattress. For two days now, he had spent every waking moment by her side, needing the comfort of the knowledge of not being alone. Her taint scratched at the back of his head. Its intensity has become less volatile ever since her Joining, though it was far more subdued right now than he would have liked.

Given her multitudinous injuries that had far outweighed his own, it was a miracle that she was still alive. Blinking away new tears, Alistair looked at her sleeping form again. Blood still matted her blond, long hair, like it had the first time he'd seen her. Several bandages covered her pale skin; they were wrapped and secured around her shoulder, arms, abdomen and one leg - the places where the arrows of the darkspawn had hit their mark and nearly killed her.

Alistair took her hand into both of his. Her skin was hot to the touch, far more than seemed normal. Startled, he let her hand drop back down and moved his palm up to touch her forehead, which was equally hot. She was burning up, and her breathing seemed more labored than usual. Oh no. No, no, __no __. She couldn't die - not after everything that had happened. He would be all alone, the only one left. Panic rose and tore through the fog of grief clouding his mind. He had to get help, even it meant searching for the sour-faced witch with the permanent scowl etched onto her expression. In this, at least, she was so very similar to his fellow Warden.

His head swam as he hurried to stand up, protesting the hasty motion. Alistair held onto the wood of the bed's simple footboard to stabilize himself and waited for the dizzy spell to pass. As soon as he was able, he rushed toward the door, ignoring his own half-healed wounds and rumpled appearance.

.

.

* * *

.

Outside of the hut, all was quiet - __too __quiet. Only the soft cawing of a raven was heard now and then, its sound tearing through the Wild's unnatural stillness. The perpetual fog-dimmed daylight was muted further by the thick, dark clouds overhead. It would be raining soon, like it had when - Alistair shook his head, willing the thought away. At least for the moment. He had to get help, had to see that Lenya would get better - or else he would be all alone again.

Like he was right now in the Wilds, since neither of the two witches were anywhere to be seen. Alistair limped past the hut to each of the building's sides, hoping to find, well, __any__ of his unlikely saviors, but to no avail.

Just as he was about to give up and return to the hut, a jet black raven landed behind him with an angry caw. Turning around to face the animal, he took a quick step back as it grew and formed into something more bigger and human-shaped - until the witch stood in front of him. Fully clothed in her odd leather robe, she - Morrigan - scowled at him.

"Ah," she said with a sneer, her posture as aloof as her words. "So you have finally decided to rejoin us, instead of whimpering at the elf's side? Falling on your blade in grief seemed like too much trouble, I take it?"

Alistair's eyes narrowed. For all her apparent beauty, this woman was a cold, cruel snake. Fitting for an apostate who lived in such a bleak environment, he supposed, but he couldn't stand her misplaced callousness, especially not now. He set his jaw as he glared at her. "Is my being upset so hard to understand? Have you never lost someone important to you? … Just what would you do if your mother died?"

Morrigan scoffed curtly . "Before or __after __I stopped laughing?"

The hand of his unharmed arm balled into a fist at his side. "Right. Forget I asked."

"Already done, fool." She started moving away.

"Wait -" he started, finally remembering the reason why he had come out here in the first place. "Lenya... she - she is - she has -" Maker, he couldn't stop trembling all the sudden.

Turning back to him, Morrigan crossed her arms. "Can. You. Speak. In. A. Complete. Sentence?"

She was goading him, again. Though the ire caused by her audacity helped him stop shaking and focus on the here and now, and his words."My fellow Warden..." Alistair paused to swallow, his throat too tight. "She has a fever, I think."

"Great..." Morrigan sighed. "... Mother said this could happen." The witch stalked away, toward one weathered wooden barrel in front of the stone hut, and retrieved the vial placed on top of it. "She left me this brew in case it happened in her absence."

Alistair eyed the strangely colored concoction in her hands with distrust. He had a bad feeling about letting Lenya drink... __that __, yet he did not have much choice in the matter. "Will this... help her?"

"There is not much mother __can't __heal. She has plucked you both from the top of the tower and treated your wounds, has she not?" Morrigan regarded him with scorn. "'Tis the question why, for you do not seem worth the trouble." With that, she opened the wooden door to the hut and slammed it shut in his face. For a moment, he remained rooted on the spot, staring blankly at the moldy wood of the door in front of him.

"Ah, children. So full of life," a deep, resonating voice cackled behind him, halting his hand on the door handle. What was it with these witches and their penchant to appear out of the blue? Creepy, that. "Leave her be, Warden. Following Morrigan inside would be ill-advised now, and undo all my work."

"But why?" he asked, his voice nearly a whisper. A new wave of grief rolled over him from the depths of his being, so intense that he momentarily forgot how to breathe. He shook, and the rapid heartbeat in his ears was all he could hear. A sound which __should __have been impossible after the darkspawn ambush. He should have been dead on top of the tower, like all the others were, down on the battlefield. "Why me?"

Alistair noticed her stepping closer, but did not turn around to the old witch. "Why did you not save the other Wardens?" Tears shot into his eyes, blinding his sight. Blinking them away rapidly, he whirled round to her at last. "Why not... __Duncan __?"

The witch cocked her head. Her golden eyes, hidden behind black face paint, regarded him for a long moment. "Guilt, bah. Such a pesky thing, isn't? If I didn't know it was the cause for your words just now, I'd think you would rather have died with the rest of your brethren."

__I should have... __"B-but I am a nobody. Duncan... -"

"You __are __a Warden," she cut him off, shrugging. The feather pauldrons of her ebony robe rustled from the motion. "And the one I __could __save, along with your fellow Grey Warden. Whoever your Duncan was, he was beyond my reach."

"Duncan is..." Alistair swallowed, frowning at her. "... __was __our leader and -"

"'Tis a moot point, young man. Do not be ungrateful for your life. I have saved it and that of your beloved elf as well." The old witch laughed out. "We cannot have all the Wardens die in the time of a Blight, no?"

"My... beloved... __what __? She is not -" Alistair drove an erratic hand through his rumpled hair. "Why does everyone keep saying this? I barely know her."

"Details, details." She heaved one shoulder to another shrug. "You __will __get to know her in the months to come. So bottle your grief, Warden. Or better yet, turn it into anger. It will help you survive while fighting this Blight."

Alistair blinked. "Fighting the Blight? Me?"

With a shake of her head, she clicked her tongue. "You can't expect me to do __all __the work, now can you?"

"I -" Alistair was still reeling at the implications of her words. Even if he were willing to do his part, he was just one Warden and... - "Lenya! Will she be okay?" He hated how pathetic and whiny he sounded to his own ears. "If… we are to -" His voice shook. "Maker, I __can't __do this on my own."

"Hah, you worry too much, young man. We shall discuss this further as soon your fellow Warden has awoken, and I have fixed both of your remaining injuries. Can't have you stumbling half-wounded toward your destined path, after all."

Before he could reply to her weird 'destiny' remark, the door to the hut opened, and Morrigan appeared in its frame. Alistair's eyes widened as his gaze fell upon her half-gloved hands. They were partly tinted crimson. __Blood __. Heedless of him, she threw the older witch a sardonic smile. "Mother. 'Tis so nice of you to honor me with your presence after all. 'Twould have been much nicer had you have appeared __before__the elf's arrow wound reopened." She stalked over to an open barrel filled with rainwater to wash her hands. "I cleaned and re-bandaged it for now, but, dearest mother, it would be kind of you to not vanish just so while our guests remain."

"Bah, spare me your sarcasm, Morrigan. I have my own preparations to make." The old witch waved her off. "This is why I always told you to pay more attention to healing magic." She laughed out. "Who knows? It may save someone someday. Or yourself. Or... __both __."

"How entirely unhelpful, Mother. I do begin to wonder if the Wardens are even worth all the effort." Morrigan spun on her heels with a huff. "'Tis a waste of __my __time, at least."

Alistair followed her and stepped into her way. "Lenya… what did you do to her?"

Having no choice but to acknowledge him now, her expression morphed into a scowl. "Have you not been listening? Shall I speak more slowly for your feeble mind?"

Bestowing her with the same kind of glare the witch showed him, Alistair pushed past her and limped into the hut.

"Especially in __his __case, 'tis futile," he heard Morrigan scoff as he closed the door behind him. Leaning his head on the wood, he closed his eyes and released a trembling breath. The silence inside of the hut was broken only by the hum of the taint scratching at the back of his skull. It was the one thing which kept him from sinking too far into his grief. If she -

"Please don't die," he heard himself whisper without meaning to. Reopening his eyes, he looked over to where she lay. Dark red dots blotted the blanket which covered her abdomen and chest. Alistair limped over to her bed and sat down on the ground next to it. Relief flooded him as he noticed her more gradual breathing, though it was short-lived.

"Lenya, I barely even know you." His eyes clouded over with tears again as he looked at her. "And I'm aware you didn't want to be a Warden, b-but you are all I have left now. Please... __please __don't leave me alone. I-I don't want to be alone aga-" The sobs punched through his throat, stopping his words and ripping through his muscles, bones and guts. He pressed his forehead against the mattress and cried, lost to the world.

.

.

* * *

__.__

__She felt wonderful – free, actually.__

__Dots of warm sunlight found their way through even the thickest branches of the trees and danced upon her face. Lenya turned to Tamlen, a wicked grin playing on her features.__

__"I bet I can outrun you..." The grin bloomed wider on her face.__

__Tamlen kept walking, the dry, wooden carpet of the forest crackling beneath his feet. "Lenya, we are here to hunt," he answered flatly. To give his words more weight, he pointed to the longbow he was holding.__

__Lenya feigned a pout . "Ah, always the voice of reason. How very boring."__

__"No , I'm not, and you know it ... but just think about what will happen if we fail again. I'm not in the mood for another hours-long lecture from Favrel or our Keeper about clan responsibilities." He shot her a wry look.__

__Lenya grimaced. "Okay, that's a good reason, I admit. They really do talk way too much. It's like listening to water running down a creek after a while, if you ignore the actual words coming out of their mouths."__

__"I might try that next time, it might make it more tolerable." Tamlen laughed. "Still I have no desire for a repeat. The Keeper is still mad at me for sneaking into her aravel."__

__She grinned and patted her friend playfully on the back."Thanks for covering for me, by the wa y."__

__"It was my pleasure. Though that means you owe me ." Tamlen nodded. "So let's hunt normally today. No games."__

__"Normally, huh?" Lenya contemplated the thought for a second before a mischievous smile graced her features. "Yes, alright. And now – " she dashed forward, leaving a puzzled Tamlen behind – " ... you have to hunt me, slowpoke." The sound of crackling dry wood mixed with her boisterous laughter as the Dalish ran away from him.__

__"Hmm, apparently I have to..." Tamlen's voice distorted into something cold and calculating. The once friendly, light-filled forest shifted into a dark and eerie thicket. The green, leafy trees had withered away, leaving gnarled branches in their wake. She attempted to run, yet her feet refused to move. "... hunt __you__." Tamlen appeared suddenly in front of her, his bow drawn - the arrow pointed directly at her. Lenya cried out in surprise, her lips quivering.__

__"Fear?" Nightmare Tamlen tilted his head, bearing his teeth to reveal l ong fangs. His lips curled into a wicked, menacing grin. "That's so unlike you, Lenya. But I like it."__

__"N-no, T-tamlen," she stuttered, blinking repeatedly. She wanted to stop him, wanted to defend herself, but she found herself paralyzed.__

__"And now you'll die, like you should have in the cave. Like I did, when you left me behind to save yourself." With a mad laugh, he loosened his grip and let the arrow fly.__

Lenya cried out as the arrow pierced her flesh – and suddenly, she was awake. She blinked, confused by her surroundings as she found herself sitting upright in someone's bed.

"Ah, your eyes finally open. Mother will be pleased," said a voice next to her.

Blinking away the last vestiges of her nightmare, Lenya recognized the face it belonged to as familiar. It was the witch they had met before... __before ... __It didn't make any sense. "Where am I?" she asked, her voice rough with disuse.

"In the Wilds," the human replied, shrugging. "Safe. Far away from the battlefield the darkspawn have ravaged. 'Tis what is important, yes?"

"I..." Lenya's eyebrows drew together. Looking down at herself, she noticed how her bare torso was bandaged, but the wounds that __should __have been there were... gone. "I know you," she managed. "Morrigan, right?"

"Oh, so you do remember my name? 'Tis beyond flattering, really," the witch replied with a roll of her golden eyes. "Especially given I tended to your wounds the past two weeks."

"Two weeks?" Lenya gasped. "I was - but how? I remember being on top of that tower and -" __I should be dead.__

"From which Mother plucked you and your dim-witted friend by turning into a giant bird, yes."

"How? What happened? Help me understand, Morrigan!"

"Let me be brief, then." The witch looked as if she was grasping at the last straws of her patience. Her fingers dug into her leather-clad arms folded over her chest. "The man who should have answered to the signal has fled the field. The darkspawn have won your battle. Those he abandoned were all massacred. Your... friend has veered between denial and grief ever since Mother told him."

"You mean... Alistair?" So he had survived as well. While Lenya was still grappling with what she had been told, this fact seemed like consolation, something to hold on to. However annoying the human was, he didn't deserve to die. It was good that he hadn't. "Why did your mother save us?"

"You best ask her that herself." Morrigan scoffed. "She rarely tells me her plans." She pointed toward a large chest on the other side of the room. "In there, you will find clothes and armor Mother has prepared for you. You better clean yourself up and get dressed. She wants to speak to you before you set off on your way again." With that, the witch turned to leave.

"Morrigan... wait!" Lenya could see how her back stiffened as she stopped. "Thank you for your help."

The tension left her shoulders as quickly as it had come. The witch turned to look at her, a hint of confusion marring her expression. "I... You are welcome. Though Mother did most of the work. I am no healer."

Nodding numbly, Lenya watched her go. With the door closed, silence returned, accompanied by a bout of panic slowly rising within her chest as Morrigan's words settled in. She had never been fond of the Wardens, nor wanted to belong to their shitty little club in the first place, but __every one __of them being dead? That was far beyond anything Lenya could have imagined happening.

.

.

* * *

.

Fuck. Fuck. __Fuck__.

Her hands shook and the washcloth fell back into the bucket. She had to get out of here and then... find her clan. They must have moved further north by now, away from Ferelden. Which seemed to be the most sensible action, given how the darkspawn horde roamed free and unstopped after the disaster that had been Ostagar. Inhaling deeply to stabilize herself, Lenya tried to find the silver lining in this utter mess.

Well, for one, she was alive, despite the impossibility of it. Her sickness was... gone, replaced by, ugh, more taint, but gone nonetheless. The Wardens were dead and so were everyone who knew she was a Warden herself. She could just... __leave __. Nod, smile, express gratitude to __Asha'bellanar __for saving her life, and then leave. She could do this.

On the downside, she probably had to kill the Warden shem, or at least knock him over the head, since he had survived with her. Huh, suddenly the fact wasn't __that __comforting anymore.

Breathing out, Lenya rushed to slip into the provided clothing and her old boots - only to stop in her tracks at the sight of the armor parts lain out for her. Either __Asha'belannar __had a particular sense of humor or a penchant to collect shiny things. Given the tale of her turning into a giant bird, the latter seemed more feasible. For Lenya's plan to escape to her clan, which required hiding her unwillingly acquired new identity, said armor parts were quite a hindrance. Or rather the griffon emblazoned on the chestpiece and the telltale blue-grey color of it was.

Creators, couldn't the witch have waved her hands and repaired her old armor, instead of collecting bits from... yes, where exactly? Lenya let the chestpiece fall back on the ground as it dawned on her. Oh no,__no __. This was just gross. At least she had the decency to clean them after...- Lenya grimaced and decided to forgo the armor in favor of grabbing her weapon belt. Pleased to find her weapons, complete and intact, sheathed within, she put it on and walked to the door.

.

.

* * *

.

Stepping out of it, Lenya suddenly remembered why she'd called this shemlen a puppy before. He rushed toward her at an excitable speed that rivaled an eager baby animal. "Oh, you are alive. Thank the Maker."

Lenya backed away from his exuberant attempt to hug her until her back hit the rough stone of the hut behind her. "Yes. But you won't be for long anymore, if you continue this, shem."

Her words did the trick, seeming to remind him that they were loose acquaintances instead of best friends. And even 'acquaintance' was a fairly generous description of their relationship. It was more 'I fought at his side once'. He stepped back, his arms falling to his side. Unlike herself, he was all armored up in __Asha'belannar's __found parts. Maybe it was his way to honor his fallen comrades . Lenya wasn't here to judge, but to... __escape __. "Sorry," he said, his tone so dejected it felt like a kick in her guts. "But.. they are dead. The Grey Wardens, Duncan, even the King. They are all dead! And without Morrigan's mother, we would be dead on top of that tower, too."

"Do not speak of me as if I am not present, lad," the old witch said from behind them.

"I didn't mean... but what do I should call you? I never got your name."

"Names are pretty, but useless." She waved him off. "You can call me Flemeth, if you must. For I doubt you can even pronounce the name your Dalish friend gave me." The witch feigned a thinking pose. "Or was it __my __Dalish friends who did that? Hah, I can never remember."

Flemeth directed her attention toward the Dalish and her distinctive lack of armor. "I see you have refused my gift? Is this your way to thank me for my generous help?"

"I simply prefer my armor not be ripped away from dead bodies, __Asha'belannar __!"

"Pah, __they __don't need it any longer." The old witch chuckled. "And it would do you good to be less choosy in your situation. Especially when dealing with the Blight in the months to come."

Lenya stared at her. "With the... what now? No!"

"Huuuh," Flemeth drawled the word and clicked her tongue. "Curious. Since when is it no longer the Grey Wardens' duty to unite the lands against the Blight, I wonder?"

"Since they all died at Ostagar!" Lenya could feel the raw power thrum underneath Flemeth's deceivingly frail appearance, but closed in on her nonetheless. "Have you not being paying attention? Besides..." She pointed at the shemlen next to her. "... he is the real Grey Warden here, not I!"

"All the Grey Wardens in Ferelden are gone, except for us. I have lost everyone!" Creators, his eyes. She had to look away, unable to stand the sadness within. "For the love of the Maker..." His voice cracked as a sob crept up his throat. "Don't back out on me now!"

"Ugh, is he crying __again __?" Lenya turned her head to see Morrigan scowling at the human. "'Twas foolish of me to ever think the Grey Wardens were great warriors. Obviously those legends are nothing but fairy tales." Not caring to wait for a retort or reply from him, she continued to stack up wood in a neat pile for a fire.

"Look..." She glanced back at her fellow Warden and immediately regretted it. He still looked like a puppy someone had kicked too many times. "__Emma ir abelas __, what happened is shitty. Really shitty." She hardened her gaze, trying not to let herself to get influenced by the raw hurt in his eyes. "But what do you expect me to do, huh? I had been a Warden for a day when this mess happened . It nearly cost my life. __Again __. I never wanted to have any part in it to begin with. So excuse me if I refuse to nod and smile to whatever idiotic, suicidal things you have cooked up, shem. Go back home to your family and let me do the same."

"I can't!" The stifled sobs wracked silently against his chest. "They are all dead!"

Well, __shit __. So much for reasoning with the oversized human puppy. Lenya caught herself searching for a hand-sized rock on the ground to smack over his head. She could still make a run for it, although he'd already managed to make her feel bad about this idea. Damn this human!

"If your trouble lies within how to approach this huge task ahead of you," Flemeth raised her voice again after being a silent listener for a while. "I can assure you, you aren't on your own in uniting Ferelden and battling the Blight." She turned toward Alistair. "You remember the documents I kept safe for you, yes?"

He exhaled roughly and his expression lightened up a bit. "Yes, of course. The treaties. We can demand help from the elves, the mages, dwarves and other places. They are obligated to help us during a Blight."

"Oh, now __that __sounds more like having an army than being on your own." Asha'belannar smiled knowingly at them both. "Much better, yes?"

"Well yes," Lenya agreed, snorting. "Except I don't have these papers."

"Um, I have," the Warden shem said. "I forgot to give them back to Dun-" He cleared his throat to keep the tears at bay. "... well, I have them."

"How... __nice __." She glared at him for ruining her chance to still get out of this. "Maybe you should go and share them with the __other __Wardens then?"

"Searching for the other Wardens would mean leaving Ferelden behind, and I can't do that. Besides, Cailan has already contacted them. They'll come if they can, but I expect Loghain has already taken steps to stop them. We must assume they won't arrive in time." He looked at her. "It is really up to us."

"Us?" Lenya bristled, making herself stand on the tips of her toes, and poked his armored chest. "There is no _'___us' __, shem! There is only an 'I told you so' in regard to that Loghain shemlen. There is me finding my clan and forgetting all of this ever happened."

"Oh, right, very mature, Lenya!" The human closed in on her until he towered over her with his sheer mass and height. "Run away until all your problems are no more, because that will work out so well for you." With a scoff, he raised his voice further. "Until the archdemon appears and swallows everything you ever knew and loved. __If __you even care -"

"Enough!" Flemeth's sudden outburst stopped them both in their tracks, and, well, her from launching herself at her fellow Warden. Still tense, her hands balled into fists, she continued to glare at him. "If you both don't stop bickering, I will drown you in this very swamp." Lenya felt the air crackle with powerful energy around her, causing her hair stand on end. "And you, elf." She winced as __Asha'belannar __addressed her, shifting her gaze from Alistair to the witch. "Do you truly believe you could outrun this Blight? That your clan can? For a time, perhaps, yes, but this Blight __won't __stop at Ferelden's borders. What will you do then? Where will you run, girl?"

Her first impulse was to reply in defiance, but Lenya found her mouth moving without words leaving it. Bare under her piercing stare, she had no answer. She looked down, feeling herself faltering and loathing this weakness. "I don't want to be dragged into this!" she snapped at first, but her voice cracked like her ire, altered into quiet frustration and guilt. "You should have simply left me on top of that tower!" Next to her, Lenya heard the damn puppy suck in a breath and felt him backing away.

"Perhaps," the old witch agreed. "'Twould have been __easier __for you, girl. Simply perishing without leaving your mark on this world. Without the weight of living and surviving where others died in your stead. But you also know, girl, that easy was never an option for you, especially after -"

"H-how?" she cut into her words. The witch couldn't possibly know that. Stepping closer, she stared into her wrinkled face, into those unfathomable golden eyes behind coal face paint. "Just who... are you?"

Flemeth cackled, seemingly amused by the question. "Oh, you gave me a name, remember? __Asha'belannar__ \- the woman of many years. 'Tis fitting, I think." Her eyes lit up with mirth. " As such, I had enough time to worry about the fate of this world, even if it has forsaken me. So I nudge and prod at it, when needed. You have profited from it as well, have you not?" Again a cryptic non-answer, though Lenya didn't expect she would get a honest one out of the witch anyway.

"Is that why you saved us?"

"Ah, young man," she chided him, "I already told you that we can't have __all __the Grey Wardens dying. Someone has to deal with the __real __threat behind it all while the fools bicker over politics and power."

"The archdemon..." the puppy said, understanding dawning on him.

"Ugh." She made a face. "I will regret asking... but what exactly is this archdemon?"

"Oh my," Flemeth laughed. "What do they teach you in the Wardens these days?"

Lenya glared up at her. "I was a Warden exactly for a __day __when the battle happened. And I would have never become one if I had been given a choice."

"Ah yes, choice is a wonderful thing, isn't it? Sadly as rare as to find two of the same stockings." The humor vanished from her expression. "Let me enlighten you then, girl. An archdemon is one of the old Tevinter gods, once sent by the Maker to slumber deep beneath the surface. They only resurface during a Blight. When one does resurface, the old god gets tainted by the darkspawn, making it an archdemon. It unites the horde, creating an army of death and destruction. History tells us that this creature is exceptionally powerful and immortal... and only fools ignore history."

"And to end the Blight we must defeat this archdemon. Only a Grey Warden can do it," Alistair added, frowning. "Not that I like the idea, exactly..."

Creators, she __had __to ask. To hide her discomfort and the newly reawakened impulse to flee, Lenya escaped into sarcasm. "Thank you. I feel much better with that knowledge under my belt."

"I am nothing if not helpful," __Asha'belannar __cackled with a smugness Lenya found intolerable. "Especially if it helps you to understand why running away would only postpone the inevitable."

"So I should fight an immortal god instead?" This was halla shit, absolute stinking halla shit.

"Think step by step, girl," the witch chided. "The treaties are there for a reason. Find allies through them first, build an army and __then __fight your immortal god. In doing so, you can protect your clan."

Lenya glowered at her, despising the lack of choice she was once again being given. But even more she hated the truth in Flemeth's words. Sure, she could still run away, search for her clan and play the oblivious fool once she'd found them, live in ignorant bliss once more. For a time, at least. The crux of knowledge was always that, once it had been acquired, ignorance would no longer work as a shield against the uncomfortable truth. No matter from which angle she looked at it, the old witch was right. Running away would only postpone the inevitable and, in the end, would certainly come back and bite her in the ass. Maybe it would even cost not just Taml-...

"Fine, let's do this!" Lenya blurted so suddenly that both of their heads turned to her. " Ugh," she added as they stared at her in unison.

"What?" the puppy said, while __Asha'bellanar __next to him only looked disgustingly smug.

She loathed them with every fiber of her being right now. Lenya crossed her arms in defiance and lifted her chin up. "I won't repeat myself."

"Nor do you need to, girl," Flemeth said, all too pleased. "There have been too many words already; now is the time to __act__." Her golden gaze flitted over to Morrigan, who busied herself in stirring a large cooking pot placed on the now lit and crackling fireplace. "And, as my appreciation for the conclusion reached, let me give you one last thing to ease your burdens on your long way." She laughed. "I believe you will find it __\- her -__ quite useful."

Lenya was the first to grasp the meaning of her words. "You mean -"

"Yes," the witch said with a nod, smirking at her. "So you better go back inside and collect the remaining gear, as you will leave immediately. With her as your guide and loudmouthed companion to aid you in your task. I am certain you both will get along just fine, hah."

"Er, well…" her fellow Warden started to object, but was interrupted by Flemeth addressing her daughter. "Morrigan, would you be so kind as to come over here?"

"Kind, mother?" she scoffed in reply as she walked over. " I did not realize we offered such. Whyever would I do so now?"

"Because you will be leaving with the Grey Wardens."

.

.

.

* * *

**Change Notes:**

Quite a few changes here. I put way more emphasis on Alistair's grief than in the first version. Also there are far more interactions with Flemeth overall, because I love to write her and it made sense for her to speak up. Lenya was difficult to handle in this chapter because she stayed very uncooperative to the fight the blight idea till the very end. It was planned differently, but ofc that girl does what she wants, heh. Hence why I had to cut off the chapter rather abruptly. The only part I have taken over from the old version is the dream sequence with Tamlen, since it mirrored her survivor guilt with Alistair's own quite nicely. Reviews are much appreciated.


	6. Together Alone

_ **Alone, I fight these animals.**  
__**Alone, until I get home.** _

_\- Of Monster And Men, Six Weeks_

.

**Chapter 6: Together Alone**

.

She hated it - _them_.

More than their unwanted company, however, Morrigan hated her mother right now. For casting her out with the Wardens, without as much as asking her - When she wasn't even ready for it. She knew why, the sense and purpose behind it, yet this knowledge didn't make her resent the suddenness of it any less. Fingers curled tightly around her rough wooden staff, she glared at the person walking next to her.

The blonde elf, now outfitted in the Warden rogue armor her mother had collected for her, seethed in quiet rage as she stomped through the squelching mud far more loudly than needed. The fool, more boy than man, had his eyes firmly cast down on his boots and took the rear of their unlikely group. In his grief, he looked ready to throw himself at the next darkspawn horde they ran into. Alas, it was Morrigan's task to lead them around all the darkspawn hordes lingering in the depths of the Wilds, or else she would have gladly cheered him on as he did so. The past weeks around his constant whining over his fallen comrades had been already trying enough. She didn't relish the idea of spending more time in his company, at least not without setting him on fire.

The Dalish was... distant, hung up in her own petty problems, though she seemed by far more tolerable. It did little to lessen Morrigan's resentment of being forced into this role, however. While she yearned to see the world beyond the Wild's borders, it should have been on her terms and not those of her mother or the Wardens.

_ Do what you must, Morrigan. _

A huff escaped her lips upon the remembrance of her mother's words, the frustration now visible in the tenseness of her shoulders. Green eyes flitted over to her for a brief moment. The elf's look was as much appraisal as it was an expression of annoyance for disturbing the stillness established between them. Morrigan held her stare long enough to notice the sharpness within her eyes, an intelligence the other Warden appeared to lack. She'd noticed it before, in the Wilds, upon meeting her for the first time. Now, however, this observation seemed like a possibility that maybe, _maybe_ they weren't all as doomed as she had initially thought.

Looking away, the witch glanced up to the sky and sighed. Under the ever-present cloak of fog and thick dark clouds, the prior daylight had dwindled to a barely perceptible lightening. The way out of the Wilds was still long, and the night was approaching faster than she had calculated. The lack of natural light was another telltale sign of a growing Blight - much as the absence of wildlife was. It had probably fled further north to escape its effect.

"We shall make camp soon," she announced, slowing her steps. "Lest we stumble into a darkspawn horde in the darkness."

Behind her, the fool scoffed as if in disagreement. He immediately fell back into brooding silence, sparing Morrigan the energy to comment.

The elf bestowed her with an roll of her eyes. "Here, on the open field, amidst the swamp?" she asked, the same anger shown in her posture as in her voice.

After hours spent in their unwilling company, Morrigan was all too willing to rise to this obvious bait. She narrowed her eyes at Mahariel. "Did I say we would make camp right now, in this instant? Do not take me for a fool, elf. I know this area well enough. We should pass a glade soon, where we can make camp for the night."

"Whatever..." she muttered and stomped away with the indignation of a twelve-year-old girl. This was going to be a long night… and even a longer journey.

Standing over the corpse of a hurlock she'd killed with frightening ease only moments ago, Lenya was still hacking and slashing at it with her blades. Whenever the sharp metal of her weapon hit its rotten flesh, the motion made a wet, squelching sound. Dark blood sprayed in small spouts from it on and around her.

Lenya barely noticed.

She was too caught in the rhythm of hatred, dancing to its alluring tune. Like fire it burned on and beneath her skin, a seething rage taken out on the darkspawn corpse to mask her own failure. Failure to say no, failure to turn away and run. Failure to save _ him _... when it mattered. Her world narrowed down on its lifeless body, the grimace of a rotten face she hated so much. Again and again, she stabbed and sliced, unable to stop.

They had taken _him_ away from her. They were the reason why she now was here, against her will, fighting a futile, _stupid_ battle. The darkspawn were the source of her misery, and she had to make them _go away_. She had to - a yelp tore through the ringing of her ears, sounding alien, unlike her voice.

Something nudged her leg and _ whined _. Through the haze of rage, Lenya heard her name being called. Her breathing ragged and too loud, she forced herself to look away from the bloodied pulp she had turned the hurlock into and saw... a dog? The animal was still pawing at her as if begging her to stop. She let the blades clatter to the ground and blinked rapidly to regain her senses. Lenya recognized the voice calling her name as belonging to her fellow Warden.

"Lenya!" he called her again. It must have been the first time in days that he spoke up.

She turned to him and noticed his bewildered stare, the crease of his eyebrows. "A-are you okay?"

"Yes, just fine," Lenya hissed, not even attempting to hide the rawness within her tone. "Everything is great. Couldn't be better, really."

His frown deepened, and she hated how he'd seen more than he should have. How she had given away far more than she had wanted to. The human held her gaze a moment longer than needed before backing away. "It's dead. Let it go," he simply said, and the hound next to her woofed as if in agreement. Wait... what hound? Lenya glanced toward the animal and recognized it as the mabari she'd helped in Ostagar.

"Ugh." Behind her, Morrigan let out a disgusted noise and pointed at the dog. "Why is it here? We already have one mangy beast-"

"Hey, this is really unneeded," Alistair cut into her words and turned the insult against him back at her. "You should be nicer to yourself, you know?" The satisfied smirk upon having silenced the witch vanished from his expression as quickly as it came. "Hey isn't that the dog you helped in Osta-" A sob swallowed his half-word and his face scrunched in the effort to hold in the others wanting to break free.

"Please, don't cry again," Lenya rushed to say, sounding harsher than intended.

His features hardened. "You're right. I should be _ angry _ instead. Loghain..." His hands balled into fists. "He is the one to blame."

On that they could agree, at least. Everything else had to wait until they were able to leave this forsaken patch of land out in the middle of nowhere. And possibly even longer. Lenya nodded. "Yes. That shem-alas is to blame, indeed."

"Does that mean the dog is going to stay?" Morrigan asked, sounding all but pleased at the prospect. The mabari, still bloodied from the darkspawn it tore into pieces not long ago, let his tongue loll out of his mouth and bestowed the witch with a bark of agreement. The witch rolled her eyes. "Great. Now we have a dog and Alistair is still the dumbest in our party."

"Hey, I was educated by the Chantry. I studied history," he objected. "They don't make stupid templars!"

"A templar? _ You _?" Morrigan sneered, looking him up and down. "Oh my, this explains so much, believe me."

"Anyway," he turned away from the witch and back to her. "I think he was out there looking for you, Lenya." He forced a smile as he looked at the dog. "He's... chosen you. Mabari are like that. They call it imprinting."

Fixing her gaze on the hound, she remembered the kennel master talking about mabari. And how imprinting differed from owning an animal, which would conflict with her belief of _ Vir Tanadhal _ . After contemplating the options for a moment, it seemed an all around a good idea to take him with them. Especially since there would be enough enemies into which the dog could sink his sharp teeth, on their way to ... _ what _ exactly? 'Fighting the Blight' was such an idiotic, unachievable goal that Lenya didn't even dare to think about it. Staying alive and reaching this shemlen village Morrigan spoke of seemed a far more sensible and feasible task, however. So she decided to focus on that, for now.

"Fine, the dog can come," Lenya agreed and reclaimed her weapons from the ground. Right after, she moved to leave. The fading daylight didn't offer much more time to reach this achievable goal in the form of the village. Maybe they should stop halfway and make camp instead.

Unlike the mabari and Morrigan, her fellow Warden didn't move from his spot."You don't want to give him a name first?"

"A name?" Lenya stopped to turn around to him. "Why? He is a dog."

"Yes, obviously. That doesn't mean he doesn't deserve his own name."

Beside her, the mabari nudged her leg as if urging her to decide."Okay, fine." She crossed her arms. "Name him, then."

"What? No, no. Bad idea. And besides, he is your dog, Lenya."

"No. I don't own him. He chose to follow me. Big difference." The dog slanted his head with a low woof.

"You are doing that now?" Morrigan let out an annoyed sigh. "Bickering about a mangy beast amidst the darkspawn corpses, out on an open field?" She threw her free hand up and stalked away. "Unbelievable."

"He is not mangy," the puppy said to his smaller canine version. "Okay, if you really insist on not naming him yourself..." Grinning slightly, he feigned a thinking pose."How about... Barkspawn then?"

Lenya flinched. Creators, this was even worse than his abysmal jokes in Ostagar. Glaring up at him, she almost wished he would revert back to brooding silence. "No. Absolutely _ not _ . This name is stupid and... _ ugh _."

"Oh?" He arched an eyebrow, challenging her. "You have a better one, then?"

"Yes. Literally _anything_ is a better name than Barkspawn. Like..." Stopping, she wrecked her brain for elvhen words."... Asha... Amae." _No, these are no good. Too feminine in meaning." __… _Revas." Yes, that was it. At least the dog could be what had been taken from her since she set foot in that creator-damned cave. _Free_. Free to choose. Free to follow. Unlike herself. "Let's call him Revas… which means freedom in my mother tongue." The mabari barked happily, acknowledging his new name.

"A nice thought, that." The shem's smile was genuine before turning into something more smug. "See? That wasn't so hard, right?" With that, he started to walk away, leaving her standing there alone with the realization that she had been goaded into doing _ exactly _ what he wanted her to do.

Hurrying her steps to not fall behind too much, Lenya found herself disagreeing with what Morrigan said earlier. Her fellow Warden was annoying, yes - downright infuriating, even. But not dumb.

Together alone.

Those were the words that came into her mind when Lenya looked at her unlikely companions. Each of them stayed in their own corner of the clearing they had settled down in for the night. Old, gnarled trees towered overhead, their twisted branches giving a false sense of protection and familiarity. The woods close to the road were small, nothing like the Brecilian Forest. And yet, Lenya felt more safe camping here than in any open field, especially after Morrigan had set up runes of protections around the glade's perimeter. They would be safe from darkspawn for the night, which seemed only a small solace given... everything else. After cleaning and sharpening his sword, her fellow Warden had reverted back to his usual brooding routine. Hunched over with his back leaned at a tree, he sat silently in the adjutant corner and stared at the yellow and brown leaves building the woods' natural tapestry.

After the rain of the past day, the soil was still damp and bore a rich earthy smell she knew too well. Again, the echo of a home left behind clawed at Lenya, reminding her of all that she'd lost. In that, she and the human weren't so different, after all. Biting her lip, she glanced away from him, doubting her idea to make camp here for the first time.

Morrigan appeared unperturbed by the emotional turmoil around her, her own small camp as distant from both the Wardens as she was herself. Only the occasional mutter or curse escaped her lips as she busied herself in building her own, secluded campfire. Her ire was directed at the predictably wet pieces of wood that wouldn't comply with her magic and stay lit long enough.

"You need to create embers first. Use different layers of wood stacked on each other," Lenya spoke up and felt the witches' annoyance now directed at her. "It is the groundwork of every fire in wet weather conditions, if you want it to last. Also, it is better if you -"

"I know how to make a fire, elf!" she snapped, cutting her off.

"Apparently not," the Warden shem snorted from his distant corner.

"Well, maybe I should set _ you _ on fire, then," Morrigan shot back. "The emptiness in your head should leave the flames enough room to grow."

"You see that bush there behind you?" The puppy pointed behind the witch, his tone harsh. "Could you crawl into it and _ die _? That would be great, thanks."

Ignoring their bickering, Lenya snatched the piece of hardwood out of the witches' hand. "You know what your problem is, Morrigan?"

"This idiot, clearly."

"No." Ushering Revas, who had laid himself down in the middle of the clearing, away, she started to stack up the wood there. The branches the human had collected were suitable for the most part, but her method was lacking. "You tried to stack the wood in a tapered way, so that the fire doesn't get enough oxygen from both above and below." Unlike Morrigan, she built a square platform, using the thick oak hardwood as a base. That would keep the rest of the branches off the ground and create smoldering embers later - those would last to give them heat for the whole night. "The trick is to ensure the fire has enough room to breathe, to establish an airflow until it burns hot enough on its own." Lenya piled the rest of the branches onto each other, each layer facing the other way than the previous one. She finished her square fire perimeter with kindling of birch bark and pine cones. "There, done. Try and set ablaze the upper layer, then let the fire do the rest."

The witch frowned at her, but flicked her hand to send a lick of flame into the fireplace. The natural fuel source burned as predicted, thanks to the resinous oil the pine cones and bark contained. "Great, now we don't have to freeze to death overnight. Still, keep an eye on it, and kindle the flames if needed."

Morrigan's frown deepened in spite of their success with the fire. "Twas not supposed to be placed in the middle of camp."

"Aww, too bad I don't give a shit. For three people -" Revas grumbled as if peeved that he was being left out."-... and a dog," she quickly added, "... one single firepit should suffice." Lenya felt her glare upon herself once more. "Feel free to build your own the next time we camp in a _ larger _ area. Not tonight, though, unless you want to burn down everything around us."

The witch turned away with a scoff, leaving her alone in the company of her dog and her growling stomach. _ Ugh _. "Say, Revas..." The mabari slanted his head with a whine and looked up at her. "... can you hunt?" He barked once, which Lenya took to mean 'yes'. "Good, because our meager supplies have dwindled to nothing by now. And I could really use some help to hunt some hare, maybe even a deer." She sighed. "If there are any to be found in these parts, that is."

"Now?" The puppy looked up to her and gestured further into the forest. It was clouded in darkness, but the moon stood high in the sky. "It's already dark and-"

"Don't worry, shem," Lenya replied and struggled to suppress her scoff. He didn't even know that elves possessed nocturnal sight? Typical. "As long there is any source of light above or around me, I will be able to see well enough."

"Right..." He looked down and, for a split second, the sparse natural light reflected within his eyes in the same way as it always did in hers. Lenya shook her head. No, impossible. That was the flickering light of the fire playing tricks, surely. "Just... I don't know. Take care."

Lenya already had a barbed comment on her lips, but something in his voice made her swallow it down again. His hesitancy to let her go seemed the be about more than just his concern about her getting lost in the underbrush. One glance toward the other corner of the clearing, where Morrigan pouted with the indignation of a child, told her the reason for it. Unseen by her fellow Warden, she rolled her eyes. This felt more and more like herding a bunch of halla fawn than a ragtag team set out with the impossible and _idiotic_ mission of saving Ferelden.

"Try not to kill each other while I am gone," she muttered, wondering why she should even _ care _ . After all, with them gone, she could reclaim her freedom and run after - yeah, no. That wasn't going to work either, given what Flemeth told her. _ Ugh _. So, she settled for something... smaller. "Hey, but no trouble if you do, because then there will be more food for me."

The deer's carcass slung onto her back weighed her down, making each step sink further into the soft, wet soil. Her cheeks were still heated from the sprint, reddened from the hunt for her quarry until Revas caught it by flanking it from the other side. It was skinny, scraggly animal, hardly enough to feed the three of them, let alone a hungry mabari. Thankfully, Andruil had been merciful and let them stumble over a rabbit hole close to the slain deer. Lenya glanced down at her dog, who proudly carried a pair of hare in his muzzle. She would let him keep one of them, at least. Usually, she preferred the methodical hunt over simply hoping for Andruil to bless her with enough luck to score her game. But with the encroaching night and tiredness, her hunger and the lack of suitable gear and traps, it was all she had tonight. For once, it had been enough, though Lenya made a mental note to build some traps for the next hunt and to buy a bow in the shemlen village they would hopefully reach tomorrow.

Taking deep breaths to calm her quickened breathing, she could smell the rusty tang of the blood that dripped from the deer's cut throat. It had been a quick, merciful death for an animal that had been left behind by its herd, alone and weak. Lenya would make sure to thank Andruil for this gift and to pray for the safety of her herd, the clan who had left her behind. She swallowed, blinking faster as the approaching light of the campfire threatened to blur.

Lenya let the carcass fall onto the ground with a loud _ thunk _and motioned for Revas to let go of his game as well. Back at camp, underneath a clear moon and the gnarled, twisted branches of the oaks surrounding the glade, she instantly noticed two things. One, her fellow Warden was gone. Two, Morrigan sat with her back turned to her, cursing underneath her breath. Her hunched form exuded an animosity that was like acid - burning, slicing, potent. She could make out several of her words, "simpering fool", "irresponsible" and "good riddance" among them.

Against her better judgment, Lenya approached the witch. She sat close enough to the campfire to steal some of its warmth, but remained standoffish enough to ward off any company. "Morrigan?"

She whirled around with suddenly, as if preparing to strike the Dalish down. Her golden eyes narrowed at the sight of her. "Oh, 'tis so nice of you to return, at least."

Lenya's lip quirked up to a half-grin. It was probably the worst thing to say now, but she couldn't help herself. "So, I take it you haven't murdered the shem after all? I'm very proud of you."

"He ran off," she huffed, her gaze turning into a scowl. "'Tis for the better, as I don't have to endure his whining and self-pitying any longer."

She snorted, pointing at the flames that burned high and bright."Well, at least you tended to the fire." The humor vanished from her face as a quiet sound reached her ears, causing them to twitch briefly. At first she thought she had misheard it, but it repeated soon after, leaving no doubt. It was small sobbing sound, coming from the depth of the woods. It explained why the shem was gone. He was crying.

"Ugh, are you even listening?" Lenya's attention snapped back to Morrigan, whose scowl had deepened. "That simpering fool should finally get over himself, there is more at stake than -"

"You... told him that, right?" She had only known the witch for a couple of days now, yet long enough to be aware that tact and empathy weren't exactly her strong suit. Not that she herself fared any better in these traits, but that came from a place of indifference, not cruelty.

Morrigan only scoffed. "So you are on his side now?"

"Creators, how old are you? Five? I am on _ nobody's _ side."

"Oh?" Morrigan arched her perfectly curved eyebrow. "How are you not taking his side? Since you obviously permit yourself to coddle the idiot and his antics."

"_Obviously_, I'm just trying to survive long enough to reach this shitty little shemlen village you talked about. _Obviously_ that is a lot harder to do if you are both _constantly_ at each other's throats." Lenya fell silent for a spell and listened for a sign of life from her fellow Warden. Quiet, short and ragged, the sobs reached her hearing again, as if ripped out of his chest. For some reason the sound made her angry. "Was that comment really needed, Morrigan? Does it make you feel better having said that to him?" Lenya threw her hands up, the frustration that had been building for days finally tumbling from her lips. "Creators, I get it, he is super annoying, and gods do I hate being stuck with a human, of all people, on this insanity of a quest. It is all so stupid, and I hate it, but there is no reason to be needlessly cruel."

"'Tis curious how you said '_ a _ human', elf. What am I to you, then?" A small smirk stole itself into her pale face. "A bog monster spawned from a log?"

"You are different," Lenya admitted and regretted it right after.

"Ah, am I now?" Her eyebrow shot up again, amused. "How so?"

"Ugh." Of course the witch would try to rile her up, in the same way she had succeeded with the puppy before. And Lenya hated that it had worked. She might as well get it over with and tell her what she wanted to hear. "You were raised in the Wilds by a woman my people revere and lived there, away from other humans. So yeah, you do not have much in common with the other shemlen."

"My, observant, are you?" Underneath apparent humor, her tone was all biting sarcasm. "It seems you have me all figured out." Morrigan paused, seeming to deliberate upon her prior words. "Survival is your goal?" she asked, sounding actually curious now.

"Yes, well, I can hardly fight darkspawn, or the Blight, or whatever it is we do here, when I'm dead, right? That is why your mother saved us, after all."

"Yes," the witch said, glancing away, into the campfire. "'T'would seem so."

"Good," Lenya nodded, surprised to see her being nearly quiet, even thoughtful. "And survival is indeed a far more tangible a goal to me than... everything else."

Morrigan looked back at her. "'Tis a pragmatic view. I can respect that."

"I owe it to them to at least... _ try _."

"To whom?" the witch asked, making her aware that she'd said it out loud.

Her throat tightened, rendering her speechless for a long moment. Lenya could still hear him crying, the sounds more subdued now. Maybe he stifled them in a futile attempt to stop the tears, the grief wrecking him. "My clan," she said in a broken whisper, and only now fully understood _ why _ he mourned. She blinked faster, almost frantically, to keep her own tears at bay as she stared out into the night. "My home."

He had lost his, too.

Something cold nudged her hand, and a faint whimper reached her ears. Lenya looked down to see Revas sitting next to her and burrowed her hand into his coarse fur. The warmth underneath her fingertips grounded her again, even if she hadn't noticed _ when _ the Mabari had appeared at her side. Revas huffed softly and licked her hand when it came close to his snout.

Turning to him, she crouched down to hug the dog. "Thank you. I'm happy you have found me." He replied in a way that was almost more person than animal and lay his head upon her shoulder with a quiet whine. The dog smelled horrible, of wet fur and blood and mud, but in this moment, Lenya didn't mind. Letting go, she looked at the mabari with a smile that felt less forced now, if only a bit. "Revas... can you do me a favor?"

He barked, eager to comply.

.

.

* * *

.

He should return, he knew that.

Sitting at the fringe of camp and crying would change nothing about the fact that they were all gone. Forever. Alistair was also aware of that, and really, _really_ wished he wasn't. Pretending everything was fine and using humor as a shield to hide his emotions behind was easier than facing the facts.

He was alone. _ Again _ . Everyone he'd known and liked was _ dead _ _ , _ and he hadn't even been able to die _ with _ them. Sitting with his back against a tree, Alistair bit his knuckles to stop the sob from breaking free. Tears welled in his eyes and spilled down his cheeks. Would it ever get better? Would it ever hurt less? Maker, why? Why was he, of all people, still alive when Benson, Junan and Duncan d-

Something soft and wet met his other hand, resting in his lap. Alistair stared at the shadowed figure that had appeared next to him, blinking rapidly."Hey..." he managed, his voice trembling and small. The dog let out a whine and nudged his unoccupied hand again. "Why are you here?" The mabari only huffed as if offended by the question and inched closer to him. Revas, Alistair remembered, Lenya had named him. "Shouldn't you be with Lenya?" he asked and didn't even know why he was talking to the hound. "Maker knows, she already appreciates your company far more than mine."Alistair gasped, a sound somewhere between a self-deprecating laugh and a sob. "Not that I blame her, mind you. I'm a complete stranger to her and... a _human_." Plopping down next to him, the dog nudged his arm aside and lay his massive head in Alistair's lap. It was a heavy weight on his legs, but also warm and... calming somehow. It reminded him of his childhood and the nights spent in the barn, huddled up in between mabari. Hesitantly, Alistair began to pet the mabari and swallowed thickly as he stared out into the night. "No wonder she hates me."

Revas woofed quietly, as if trying to argue that point, but forgot about it as soon Alistair scratched a particular spot behind his ears. His hind leg twitched in time with the scratches and the dog tilted his head _ just so _to give Alistair better access. It looked comical to see such a large warhound behave like a tiny puppy, though he was too caught up in his grief to actually able to laugh at it. He thought about the many times when he had wished Lenya was someone else and felt ashamed. Since it would have meant her death instead of another Warden, and that wasn't wholly fair either. After all, Lenya did not choose to be saved, nor to become a Warden in the first place. She was here by pure happenstance, same as him. And still...

"No, it is okay," he sighed into the night and let his hand fall back at his side. Revas huffed in disappointment. "It would have been better if I had been the one to die, instead of- of-" New tears halted his thought, and his throat became too constricted to speak any further. Alistair felt the dog's tongue lapping at his hand, and his wet nose butted his arm. He started to pet him again, if only to ground himself in the repeated motion, the warmth underneath his fingertips. "What am I doing here? I am in way over my head, and there is no one I can turn to." Duncan would have known what to do, but... he was _ gone _ and would never... Silent sobs wrecked through his body, and he had to bite his fist to stifle its crescendo.

"Look at me," he sniffled through his tears after another moment had passed. "I am talking to a _ dog _ ." Revas let out an offended growl as he glanced up at the human. Wiping hastily at his tears, Alistair started to pet the dog's head again. "Sorry. I know you understand me. It is just... I don't know," he finished lamely, feeling incapable of voicing the grief overwhelming him in waves, the loneliness inside. Tightening his cloak around him to fend off the cold, he leaned his head back against the tree. With the warmth and weight of the dog beside him , he could feel exhaustion crawling back in. The past days had been harsh, even if he'd spent them mostly in a haze of grief. And the future didn't seem any brighter. Maker , he had no idea where to even start fighting this Blight, and how to bring Loghain to justice for what he'd done. Though he owed it to Duncan... to them all, to at least _ try _his best, to fulfill his duty as a Warden. Swallowing thickly, Alistair looked down at the dog.

"But I am still glad you're here, Revas."

.

.

* * *

.

_Thunder rumbled in the distance and a bolt of lightning cracked the darkened sky _ _ in two as _ _ she ran. Torrential rain poured down in icy sheets upon her face like needles, but _ _ , _ _ in her haste to get away, Lenya didn't care. _

_ The sudden shift in weather suited her, for it would make it easier to hide her tracks, to keep him - this damn Warden leader _ _ shemlen - _ _ from following her. Lenya had waited until he was fast asleep and then snuck out of their makeshift camp. _ _ Under cover _ _ of night, the first part of her escape had been easy _ _ : _ _ planting a few false tracks here and there and using her heightened sight to her advantage in the darkness. But now morning had broken and _ _ , _ _ with it _ _ , _ _ the shem's awareness of _ _ her absence _ _ . More than getting hit by lightning _ _ while _ _ running across these open plains, Lenya feared _ _ she was too simple a _ _ target to spot. His heavy armor would normally slow him down in his _ _ pursuit, _ _ if it weren't for his damn horse. Gasping for air and with her legs and lungs burning, she also knew that she couldn't _ _ keep this up _ _ for much longer. Even trained and fit as she was as a hunter, brief spurts in between slower walking was all she could manage after hours of flight, and _ _ that _ _ was slowly becoming cumbersome _ _ , _ _ too. Hunting for her clan had always been more about endurance and _ _ the _ _ patience to wait for the perfect kill than long trekking. _

_ Lenya gritted her teeth and pushed forward through the smattering of rain. The wind screamed more than it howled, making her trek uphill all the more complicated. As she finally reached the top of it, she recognized the pattern of the sparse trees in between green, lush hills in the distance. She had been here before, dragged away from her clan and thrown over the shoulder _ _ of _ _ the Warden shem. It would be another day's march until she could slip into the Brecilian Forest again, but at least she knew she was on the right track. Another advantage of the weather was that the heavy rain would quickly wipe away any of her footprints left in the muddy soil. _

_ An hour later _ _ , _ _ the storm had dwindled down to normal rainfall. Drenched to the _ _ bone, _ _ Lenya reached the _ _ mouth _ _ of a river. Following it upwards would eventually lead her into the forest again, back to her clan. If they were still there. She shook her head, __refusing __to follow this thought further. Even with the sickness and exhaustion wearing her down, she couldn't let herself _ _ doubt _ _ now, not _ _ now that she was _ _ so close to being back where she belonged. Like a promise _ _ , _ _ she kept _ _ hold of _ _ the thought of __home and _ _ continued onward with hasty steps. _

_ At the point where the river split in two, she saw a bay horse grazing, looking frighteningly like the one the - oh no. _  
_ "It seems you have forgotten that I am a rogue too, Mahariel," a voice behind her said. "I know all the tricks, believe me." _ _  
_ _ Lenya didn't need to turn around to know that it was the damn shem. Frozen in her track _ _ s _ as she was in her shock, any movement was momentarily impossible anyway.

_ No, no, no. How could it be? How did he- _

_ "Nor do you seem to remember how you have tried to escape once already." She felt him approaching, _ _ and her _ _ muscles tense _ _ d in response _ _ . She'd fight, if needed. "I'd underestimated the weather, or I would _ _ have _ _ cut off your way sooner." _

_ "You cannot force me to go with you, shemlen!" _

_ "I have conscripted you _ _ , _ _ and your Keeper ha _ _ s _ _ acknowledged this, so according _ _ to _ _ the rules of my order-" _

_ "Fuck your rules," she _ _ spat out, _ _ pressing her hands into fists. _

_ He came closer still _ _ , _ _ and Lenya prepared herself for an attack. "So despite me having a cure for your sickness... you would rather die?" _

_ The rain drops ran down her face, mixing with the tears she wasn't able to blink away. "Yes," she uttered, _ _ suddenly sounding _ _ not so sure. _

_ "Ah..." Duncan only said. "I was hoping to avoid that, but you are leaving me no choice." Before Lenya had time to wonder what these words meant, something connected with the back of her head and her world went black._

_._

~V~

.

Lenya woke with a gasp and stared blearily into the darkness of camp. Her hand reached back to feel the bump on her skull that wasn't there, not anymore. The heat of the glowing embers closeby and the absence of both her dog and her fellow Warden were the next things she registered.

"'Tis a good thing you woke up on your own. Otherwise I would have woken you."

"I -" Lenya swallowed heavily, blinking at the witch who rolled her eyes.

"You were talking in your sleep, elf. Quite insistently and _ loud _, I might add."

"Lenya."

Morrigan frowned at her. "What?"

"I recall us exchanging names when we met, _ Morrigan _," Lenya said with a small scoff in her voice, putting extra emphasis on her name. "Since I can remember yours, I wonder why you struggle to do the same with mine?"

She fixed her with a stare. "Because such is a thing one has to earn?"

"What? My name? It was freely given to me by my parents." The corners of her mouth twitch upwards, as the next words came to her mind. Words that should be very familiar to the human. "You do not assume I spawned from a log, do you?"

"How generous of them," the witch said, not missing a beat, and clucked her tongue. "Are they the reason why you are so eager to run back to your clan?"

"No." The smell of grilled deer meat wafted into her nose and her rumbling stomach distracted her for a moment. "They are both dead."

"Oh..." Morrigan glanced away. Her posture deflated just as her smugness did. "My condolences then, however little they will mean to you."

"They are still appreciated, Morrigan," Lenya said and was surprised to notice that she meant it. "Now, can we use our names for each other, going forward? It seems as if we are stuck together, so doing so would make at least some of it easier."

"Yes." She nodded after a moment of deliberation. "Twould, indeed. And you seem more bearable than your... fellow Warden."

"Coming from you, that is a very low bar to cross, but... I'll take it." Shaking her head, Lenya stood up and walked past the empty place by the campfire where the shem should have been. Why was he still absent?

Slipping past their camp's perimeter, she found him leaning against a tree with his chin resting on his chest. She couldn't see his face due to the hood drawn deep over his head, but, motionless as he was, he was obviously asleep. Revas lay stretched out across the human's legs, serving as a source of warmth and comfort.

Good. He was annoying, but - shemlen or not - she knew exactly how he felt. He had lost his clan, too.

_ Alistair _ . She recalled his name as she quietly turned away , and her prior words to Morrigan came back to her mind. _ Not shemlen. _

Maybe she should start calling him by his name too.

.

.

* * *

**Change Notes:** I kept some vague elements of the old version, such as Morrigan's frustration about her mother, Lenya's blind hatred of darkspawn, which she blames for her fate and Lenya sending her dog to Alistair for solace.

The most obvious change was the name of the Mabari, who now is called Revas and no longer Arai. The name simply fits Lenya and her reasons for it better. I also focused more on Alistair's grief once more, since it doesn't magically vanish from one day to the other and needs to be addressed. Lenya is also quicker ready to use Alistair's actual name than in my old version, which has story but also technical writing reasons, since calling him "warden shem" all the time gets old and impractical fast.


	7. Anywhere But Here

**A/N:** _This chapter had been originally written and published on Ao3 in March 2018. If you want to see the up-to-date version of this story, come find me on Ao3 under the same nickname (Merilsell) and story name (Of Elves And Humans: Redux). Enjoy?_

_._

* * *

.

**Chapter 7: Anywhere But Here**

.

It was near midday, when the promised shemlen village finally appeared on the clear horizon. Only this stone bridge needed to be crossed and then -

"Greetings, travelers!" _ Oh, but of course_. Lenya rolled her eyes and bit back a groan, as a group of five armed men from behind the stacked wooden boxes to their left and right appeared. They spread out as she approached with the others in tow, effectively blocking her group's way.

She glared at the simple-minded shemlen with a fuzzy half-beard and a face as wide as an aravel wheel. "Er... they don't look much like them others, you know. Them have no wagons." He eyed the two Wardens warily; he didn't seem to be the sharpest arrow in the quiver. The shem pointed at her. "And this one looks armed."

Lenya let her hands wander to the blades belted at her sides and scoffed. "Wow, figured out that on your own, huh?"

"Highwaymen, preying on the people fleeing the darkspawn, no doubt." As always, her fellow Warden excelled in pointing out the obvious.

The stupid bandit's eyes flicked over to the dark-haired shemlen next to him. "Uh. Maybe we should let these ones pass, boss?"

"Now, now, Hanric. How often do I have to explain to you that the tax applies to everyone?" their leader replied, clicking his tongue. "What do you think would happen if we started making exceptions?"

"Uuuuh..." Ignoring his companion's incapability to form a coherent reply, the shemlen stepped in front of his group and Lenya. With a simple wooden shield strapped to his back and clad in crude leather armor, he oozed smug confidence. She already hated him - and if Revas' insistent growling was any cue, her mabari did too. "A simple ten silver, and you are free to move on."

Behind her, Morrigan laughed. "I say teach them a lesson instead, Lenya."

Well, at least the witch kept her promise of using her name. Which didn't change the fact that she was not in the mood to deal with these assholes. Even if Lenya had had the money, she would rather have eaten it than give it to these idiots. Glowering at the smug bastard, out of the corner of her eye, she noted how Morrigan and Alistair spread out to each corner of the bridge, ready to fight. Revas stayed at her side and bared his fangs, each muscle of his large body tense. "Tell you what..." Grabbing the leader's arm, which hung loose at his side, she twisted it swiftly behind his back, forcing him to kneel. Her unsheathed, curved dagger was pressed to his bared throat in an instant. "...how about you give us all of _ your _ money instead? See as as a donation to the Wardens, for a good cause."

The sound of steel being drawn on both sides rang through the air. Though the bandits seemed to hesitate, unsure how to proceed. "Grey Wardens? Them are the ones having killed the king," the fool named Hanric said, wide-eyed. "We should have really let them pass."

"Oh sorry." The shem screamed as Lenya twisted his arm further, to the point of near-breaking. Her boots were firmly planted on the backs of his knees, adding further strain to his body. "I should not have posed these words as a question. All of your money. _ Now _!"

"Sooo..." Her fellow Warden deliberately moved into her field of vision, covering her empty left flank. He had his shield and sword lowered again, but she had seen him fight. She knew this casual pose was as much an act to fool the men as it was part of his annoying self. He throw her a lopsided grin. "We're robbing _ bandits _ now? Oh, _ fun_."

"Tis certainly an... interesting approach." Morrigan sounded way too pleased with the situation. "I will collect their money then."

"Oh, I have no doubt you would want to do that, _ witch_." The shem... _ Alistair_, she reminded herself, put extra emphasis on his last word. It was as much contempt as it was a reminder to the bandits that they had a mage in their ranks - if they had been too blind and stupid to notice it yet. Given this particular group, Lenya wouldn't put it past them.

Blood trickled down her polished silverite dagger as it nicked the bandit leader's throat. He let out a whimper as he looked up at his men. "Okay, okay. Do as they say. Just... don't kill me, elf!"

"That remains to be seen, _ shem'alas_!" She fixed the shemlen with a scowl. "After that, you leave, or he dies. And with him, all of you as well."

"Them Grey Wardens are good. I mean, _ really _ good." There was a slight awe in the idiot's voice as he came forward to leave his coin purse on top of the wooden box next to Morrigan. "No wonder them's have killed a king."

"We did no such thing!" Alistair snapped, urging the stocky shemlen to leave faster. Pained screams rang through the air as the next one attempted an attack and got his arm torn to shreds by Revas. Witnessing the mabari's prowess, his two other companions suddenly seemed way more motivated to put distance between themselves and her group. After leaving their money, of course.

Which only left their leader to deal with.

"Maker..." he gasped, actually crying now. "Please, _ please _ don't kill me." She had heard the _ exact _ same phrase out of a shemlen's mouth before. Back in the Brecilian Forest, at _ his _ side, with a shem held at arrowpoint. Before releasing the bowstring, before they discovered the ruins and everythi -

"Lenya?" She blinked quickly to find Alistair frowning at her, drowning out the memories. Unfortunately, he was as observant as he was annoying. "Shouldn't we let him go? Let's just avoid unneeded bloodshed, right?"

"Yes, yes. _ Please, _" the shem bandit sobbed. "We - I just tried to survive. Same as you, Warden!"

Her blade pressed closer to his throat. "I am nothing like you, scum." His sobbing grew in intensity and volume until a wet puddle pooled in between - _ ugh_.

"Ugh." Lenya grimaced and took a tentative step back, realizing the bandit had peed himself. "Humans are _ disgusting_."

"Well... thanks." Her fellow Warden cleared his throat. Based on how the corner of his mouth twitched upwards, it was more to cover up the need to laugh than from embarrassment. "I can't exactly blame him, though. You are kind of terrifying, Lenya."

"Good." She threw him a look, then turned her attention back to the sobbing mess of a bandit still at her mercy. "Run. And never come back!" Releasing her hold on him, she gave him a harsh shove. The man scrambled to his feet and fled as if the dread wolf were after him.

"How amusing." Having finished counting and pocketing the money, Morrigan scowled at her, while Revas still gnawed on a piece of... hand. Lovely. At least Lenya wouldn't have to feed him for next few hours. "Can we proceed to the village now? There is much that we need and far less time to get it than I would like."

Alistair let out a snort. "Why? You got an important appointment somewhere?" At first, it looked as if the witch would humor him, but then she simply settled for scowling at him. "Hey, what about our money?" he asked, his tone whiny.

"If you continue asking, I will keep it, fool!" With that, Morrigan stalked away, leaving Lenya no other choice than to follow both humans down the bridge's ramp and into the village.

.

.

* * *

.

Lothering was not what Lenya had expected it to be.

In fact, she wasn't quite sure what she had expected of the first shemlen village she'd ever set foot in, but it wasn't _this_. Not a miserable sinkhole built upon a muddy green, stuffed with people and mismatching houses of wood and rushes. Creators, there were far more people than a village of this size should have. It was of course not like Ostagar, but the noise of _them_ talking and their children wailing without relent was a similar onslaught on her senses. And so was the smell. It reeked of mud and stale sweat mixed with smoke and too many different things she couldn't pinpoint, which, oddly enough, completed the picture of misery. Lenya closed her eyes and drew in hasty gasps of air to curb her nerves. Unsurprisingly, this only made breathing _harder_ instead of calming her, but she refused to take in the foul air through her nose.

She felt a hand on her shoulder and reopened her eyes to see that it was _ his_. "Your first time in a human village, I take it?"

More peeved with herself than him for being so easily readable, she shrugged Alistair's hand off with a scowl. Then she turned toward Morrigan, if only to mask her own insecurity. "What are we going to do now?" _ Why are we here? _ was what Lenya actually wanted to ask, for this place didn't seem to offer _ anything _ they could need. Revas nudged her gloved hand with a whine, and she gave his ear a brief ruffle.

"I hate to say it, but we pretty much stand out among the others," the human puppy said as he surveyed the area. He pointed at the witch. "Especially with, ugh, _ her _ in tow. The village is full of templars, in case you haven't noticed."

"Oh how I tremble in fear." Morrigan only rolled her eyes at him. "To answer your far more sensible question, Lenya, we shall visit the town's tavern to gather more information. Though I doubt any of these simpletons here are able to give us what we seek."

Her fellow Warden scoffed. "Oh, _that _ is your plan?"

"We could also go after your enemy directly. Find this Loghain, kill him and _ then _ deal with the Blight."

Lenya noticed how he hesitated and tensed, as if actually considering her option."Yes, Morrigan," he replied belatedly, his tone pure sarcasm. "He certainly wouldn't see that coming. It is not like he has the advantage of an army or experience and-" Alistair stopped himself with a sigh. "The tavern it is."

They had barely proceeded further into the village when a heavily armored shemlen stepped into their way. His whole head was covered by a helmet, leaving only his blue eyes visible through a slit. "You there!"

"Case in point," Alistair whispered, sing-song.

"If you search for shelter, you'd better move on," the man said, pointing behind himself. His voice sounded tinned through the helmet. "We've had refugees streaming from the south for the last two days. The chantry and the tavern are full to bursting. There simply isn't enough food to go around, and we templars can barely keep order."

_ Ah_. Lenya's stare shifted to a glower. So _this_ was a templar. She had heard stories within her clan, of course, but she had never seen one in person. They were the ones trying to find clans to eradicate the 'forbidden magic', like these assholes called it, and to kill the Keeper and the whole clan with them, when found. "What?" she challenged, invading his space. "Will you stop me from entering, _ shem _?"

Taken aback by her sudden fury, he stepped back. "N-no, of course not. I'm just warning you things may not be as hospitable as you'd expect. People are frightened, as the Bann has moved on with his soldiers, leaving them to their fate here."

"So... Lothering is lost?" Next to her, Alistair gasped, all humor gone.

The templar nodded. "It will be, as soon the horde reaches these parts. We templars stay as the last line of defense and will try to evacuate as many people as possible, but it is best if you do not linger."

Huh. That explained the hectic commotion within the village, then. People were running back and forth, loading their wagons with their possessions. It was a stark contrast to the refugees huddled in alleys or camping in the open air - they didn't appear to be in a hurry. "Thank you," Lenya heard Alistair say, even as Morrigan groaned. Revas barked happily, seemed eager to move on.

Before they could even reach the large building on the other side of a foul-smelling river, there was another shemlen who caught sight of them and called out to them.

"Ho! You there!" The man made a beeline toward... Alistair? Lenya eyed the shemlen as he approached. There was nothing special about him. Light skin, roughened by the weather. Dark, short hair and a slight beard. And his bushy eyebrows looked as if drawn into a permanent frown. What was it with shemlen and all that facial hair, though? "You look able! Would you care to make a tiny profit helping a beleaguered businessman?"

Her fellow Warden only blinked at him, dumbfounded.

Right on the merchant's heels followed a sour-faced elderly shem. Her long brown hair was wound back tightly to frame her harsh, pale face. She was wearing the same dress Lenya had seen on a woman in Ostagar, minus the weird head garment. "He is charging outlandish prices for things people desperately need! Their blood is filling his pockets!" Her voice wasn't exactly pleasant, though Lenya didn't understand why Alistair flinched upon hearing her speak up.

"I have limited supplies," the merchant shem argued. "The people decide what those supplies are worth to them."

"You profit from their misfortune!" The old woman raised her voice further, which led to more wincing from her fellow Warden. "I should have the templars give away everything in your carts!"

"You wouldn't dare!" The shem whirled around to face the onlooker, furious. "Any of you step too close to my goods, I'll-"

"It is so nice to see everyone working together in a crisis," Alistair said, every one of his words dripping in sarcasm. By now Lenya wondered if he could even form a single sentence without it. "Warms the heart, really."

"'Tis only survival of the fittest," Morrigan scoffed, crossing her arms. "All these cretins would do the same in his shoes, given the chance."

"Warden!" He flinched upon the merchant's usage of his title, which, given his armor, wasn't really surprising. The griffon etched into the breastplate was still visible, despite the dark-green cloak slung around his broad shoulders. "I don't care if you have killed the king, or not. I've a hundred silvers if you'll drive this rabble off, starting with that priest. I'm an honest merchant, nothing more."

"We have done nothing like tha -" Alistair began, bristling, but was interrupted by the cleric.

"An honest businessman?" the woman scoffed. "You bought most of your wares from these same people last week! Now they flee for their lives, and you charge thrice as much, using their desperation to make a fortune."

"Must we solve every petty squabble for these fools? Shall we start rescuing tiny kittens from trees next? Let them be - and let us move on." Morrigan turned away with a groan, fed up with listening to them bickering without pause. Lenya was tempted to do the same. They could use the money, but by now it wasn't worth the headache it had caused.

"I agree," the Dalish said with a scowl in the shemlens' direction. "This isn't our problem."

Her fellow Warden hesitated, looking as if he wanted to protest, and the merchant mistook his hesitance as agreement with the others.

"Pah, if you don't want my money or wares, so be it!" Throwing his hands up, the man whipped around in anger. "I am leaving!"

"I _ don't _ think so," said a new, melodic voice emerging from behind the onlookers. The people moved aside, making way for a shemlen woman clad in an elaborate, heavy armor. Her freckled, brown skin had a rich, deep earthen tone with a faint reddish hue. It reminded Lenya of the color of the clay pots her clan used. It was similar to Alistair's skin tone, but the woman was still another shade or two darker than him. She wore her jet-black hair in a long bowl cut and towered over the merchant as she stepped in his way.

"H-Hawke," The man managed to shriek, seeming to shrink even more. "I thought you had already left?"

"Sefric, Sefric, you slimy little worm." Her full lips curled back to a sardonic smile, the woman called Hawke shook her head. The motion caused her bangs to fall into her brown eyes. Blinking them away, she clicked her tongue. "I suppose you would have liked that, huh? Me being gone?"

"N-no," the shemlen held up a hand, but it did little to placate the woman who kept approaching him, no matter how far he backed away. "I simply heard that you and your family already packed up your stuff and fled from the incoming darkspawn horde..."

"But Sefric..." Hawke's smile widened as the man's back hit the rough stone wall behind him. Without effort, she yanked him up by the collar with one gloved hand and stared him down as he dangled half a foot above the ground. "...how could I ever leave without saying goodbye to an _ old _ friend?"

"Wow..." Lenya heard Alistair utter next to her and rolled her eyes. Though if she was honest, she was impressed, too. At least a bit. This shemlen seemed to be so very different from the whimpering cattle that usually cowered in the village's corners. Unlike them, she bore herself with the natural confidence of a trained warrior.

"H-Hawke, please, I -" the merchant begun, but was interrupted by another voice calling out for someone.

"Mia..." A younger woman pushed through the now considerable bulk of onlookers. Her black hair was longer and curlier, and she was smaller in frame and height than Hawke, but otherwise they resembled each other. Both had the same brown skin and a similarly long, somewhat broad nose and oblong face. "There you are, sister." _ Ah_. That explained the similarities between them. "I have been looking all over for you. Mother is waiting for us."

"Bethany..." Hawke said with her sweetest voice, her smile fake. "... I was only giving our dear friend Sefric some advice before leaving." She stepped back and let go of the man, letting him plop down to the ground ass first. The man scrambled to his feet and started to flee, but her armored palm planted firmly on the stone wall prevented him from moving further. "Sharing is caring, isn't it, sister dear?"

The younger woman shifted from one foot to the other and frowned at her sister. "Er... what is this about?"

"Sefric overpricing his wares and now, when he has been found out, trying to fuck off."

Bethany's stance relaxed, and she smiled. "Then sharing is definitely the answer."

"Aww, see, we are getting along so well." Hawke turned back to the man. "Don't you think?" The merchant nodded hastily. "Good, good. And to show that, you are not only going to stop your overpricing, but give each of the villagers a discount on your wares." She stopped to look at Alistair with a grin. "Since it would be nice to see everyone working together in a crisis." Her fellow Warden bestowed the re-purposing of his words with a small chuckle. "Are we clear, _ my friend? _" The unhappy shemlen nodded again, if only to save his hide. As soon Hawke backed away, he ran off in the other direction, without his wagon or wares.

"Wardens..." With the problem solved, Hawke switched her attention to them, while the on-lookers slowly dispersed. "I heard Sefric promised you a hundred silver for helping him?" She flipped Lenya a golden coin. "Here are a hundred for _ not _ helping him. Figured that, with Ostagar gone to shit, you gotta need it."

"Thank you, Mia." The priest emerged from the crowd and patted the human on her broad, armored back. "You have helped a lot of people today."

Hawke shrugged and snorted. "Oh, you know me, Rilah - always happy to be helping or punching people. Preferably both."

"As do I, sister," Bethany said with a hint of amusement. "Carver had bet you wouldn't leave Lothering without creating chaos one final time. I suppose he was right."

"For what it is worth," the cleric shem said. "I am glad you did, Hawke. Even if your methods are a bit... unconventional. May the Maker be with you on your journey." She turned to face Lenya's small group and nodded in acknowledgment. "And with you, Wardens. If you'll excuse me, I have to return to my duties." With that, the human left in the direction of the huge building on the other side of the river.

"You better be careful when flashing your armor about here in Lothering... or anywhere, quite frankly." Hawke's brown eyes narrowed into a frown. "Teyrn Loghain has put a bounty on the head of any surviving Grey Wardens, which naturally includes both of you. For murdering the King." She tilted her head, her frown deepening as she looked at them.

"You don't believe we did it," Alistair stated, sounding surprised.

"Well, yeah, obviously we don't," Bethany spoke up. There was something odd about the young woman. While she was around the same age as Lenya, every one of her movements were measured, a bit stilted as if rehearsed a dozen times or more. And the Dalish could feel the residue of the Beyond around her, no matter how hard she tried to suppress it. _ Oh_. She was a mage... how could she have missed that before? "Mia has served at Ostagar in the army, along with our brother Carver. They barely escaped with their lives when... " She lowered her voice. "...Teyrn Loghain fled the field."

"Lucky you..." There was a clear bitterness in her fellow Warden's tone. "I was there too. I lost..." His voice broke, and he looked away, blinking quickly.

"Yeah, gotta say... " Hawke sighed. "Still surprised there are even survivors from your order. And... such an odd pair, at that."

"Mia." Her sister laughed, rendering her scolding words ineffective. "Don't be rude."

"Oh, believe me," Lenya said with a scoff. "That is not by choice. But... " She sighed. "... here we are. In a shitty shemlen dirthole in the ass-end of nowhere. Not sure how being here will help us..." Lenya raised her hands to make sarcastic air quotes. "Fight the Blight... but whatever."

"Wow... you are quite the jaded one, aren't you?" Lenya glared at the larger shem, which only seemed to increase her amusement. "This is my home village you are insulting here, by the way. Though I gotta say, your assessment of its state is fair, in a way. People are desperate. Those who can leave Lothering do, and should."

"Like you?" Lenya asked.

"Yes." The human nodded. "We heard rumors that the village lies in the way of the approaching horde, that they will be here soon. With the Blight and all, gotta protect my family, you understand, surely?"

"Yeah..." Alistair breathed, shakily. "Though we also could use your help on our travels. Hawke, it was, right?"

"Mia... but no, can't do that, sorry." She shrugged. "We are about to leave Ferelden and, if you are smart, Warden, you gotta do the same. Hardly the time to play hero; it will only get you both killed." Lenya threw her fellow Warden a knowing look, for this shemlen was right.

"Well, that is not an option," he replied. "... for us, anyway."

"Suit yourself, then." She shrugged and her eyes strayed to her sister, who was amusing herself by petting Revas. The mabari rolled on his back and stretched all four legs toward the sky. "Bethany... You are aware we have our own mabari? Don't come running to me and complaining that Barkus won't even look at you."

"Yes, but he is so cute..." Revas bestowed her words with a playful woof, and his tongue lolled out of his mouth. The human withdrew her hand suddenly and grimaced as she looked at it. "Wait... is that _ blood _ ?" The hound had done a good job of licking himself... _ ugh _ _ ... _ clean after gnawing on the bandit's arm, but apparently he hadn't been careful enough.

"Anyway," Mia turned back to them, ignoring her sister's change of mood. "There is one last tip I've got for you, Wardens. In the tavern down there, there are soldiers looking for you. Loghain's men, I suppose, and real pains in the ass. Had more run-ins with those assholes these past days than I care to count. So maybe you can repay me for my money and deal with them, huh? Would help Lothering, too, and you look as if you can handle it."

"Be careful," Bethany warned them as she frantically wiped her hands on her dark leather tunic. "And all the best on your travels."

"Likewise," Alistair inclined his head. "And thank you for the tip and money. We will put both to good use."

Hawke turned around with a wink. "Oh, I'm sure you will, handsome."

Her sister nudged her arm. "Mia!"

"What?" Hawke smirked at her. Lenya never had wished for deafness more than now. "He _ is_."

Alistair cleared his throat. "Well... that was... _ interesting_."

"Tis one way to put it," Morrigan sneered, speaking up after a long while of silence. "Another would be: excruciating and a pointless waste of our time."

"Damn, you are still here, Morrigan?" he gasped, feigning shock. "And here I thought you had slithered away. Maybe even joined the other snakes living in the bushes. Aww, bummer."

"Right," Lenya said, interrupting whatever retort the witch had on her lips. She started to walk toward the large building on the east side. "Let's meet and deal with Loghain's men, then."

.

.

* * *

.

"I surrender! Maker, have mercy!"

Wide-eyed and kneeling in the blood of his fallen comrades, the human stared up at Lenya and her blade, held at the ready over his head. True to Hawke's words, they had found Loghain's soldiers in the tavern. Their laughter and arrogance still rang in Lenya's ears, along with her quickened breath and the rush of adrenaline from the brief but brutal fight.

"Have you not done enough?" a soft, lilting voice said, far too accusatory in its tone. The person it belonged to appeared right after. It was a red-headed woman dressed in the same orange-red robe the priest outside had worn. The damn Chantry again. Her fair, freckled skin was splattered with the blood that had been spilled in the dispute. The shemlen's blue eyes fixed on the sole survivor of Loghain's hounds, her expression stern. "Look around you," she prompted. "People are frightened." The tavern was packed to bursting with people, who all pressed themselves to the furthest corner of the wall. The air reeked of sweat, blood and cheap ale.

"Yes, because they attacked us!" Alistair snapped, unusually blunt and aggressive. Given the soldier's prior taunts about Loghain being right and just, his bad mood was no surprise.

"But it is over now, yes?" Her voice had a strange, foreign accent Lenya couldn't place. "We can stop fighting. Show him mercy."

"Mercy?" Her fellow Warden rushed forward, sword still in hand. "Just as they have shown us?"

"Who are you to decide that, sister?" Lenya narrowed her eyes, feeling Revas tensing again at her side. His hackles raised, he growled at the kneeling captain, whose throat was at the perfect height for his teeth. She only had to wave her hand, and her Mabari would jump and end him.

Of course the sister had to step in front of the shemlen, ruining this perfectly fine plan. Foolish of her to turn her back on the still fully armed and trained soldier, but this was the least important point on the list of issues now. "They - _ he _ \- has learned the lesson, and enough blood has been shed." The woman looked at her. "You are better than to murder a man who has surrendered. They said you are Grey Wardens."

_ Not willingly_, Lenya thought bitterly, before lifting her chin to glare at the human. Raw anger twisted her voice. "I don't want him to report back to his filthy shem general!"

"N-no," the man behind her wailed, sounding ready to snap. "I will not die here!" Then everything happened so fast. Jolting back on his feet, he attempted to grab the sister from behind. Though the woman somehow anticipated the movement and with a practiced turn evaded his deadlock. Without thinking, she used the momentum to ram her dagger into his throat. He gasped a final, desperate breath, wide-eyed as he had been while begging for mercy, and sank to the ground. The dull _ thump _ his now lifeless body made was deafening in the stillness of the tavern.

Behind herself, Lenya heard Morrigan chuckle. "'Tis ironic to hear the sister prattle on about mercy, only to have him die by her hand, isn't it?"

"Maker... I didn't..." The shemlen clasped her hand over her mouth, shaking. She swallowed thickly, her other hand clenched into a fist as she methodically calmed herself down with measured intakes of air. This hadn't been her first kill. Everything about it had looked practiced. Her movement, in particular, was pure reaction from muscle memory. She was a trained fighter. "He... left me no choice."

Reluctantly, Lenya lowered her own weapons and hushed Revas' growling. "Just... who are you?"

Letting her hand fall back at her side, the human smiled at her as if nothing had happened. "I am Leliana, one of the lay sisters of the chantry here in Lothering. Or I was."

"...was?" Alistair echoed, frowning. He too sheathed his weapon and put the shield down at his feet.

"I wasn't born in the Chantry, you know." She tilted her head, blue eyes piercing as she observed him, though a small smile played around her rosy lips. "Many of us had more... _ colorful _ lives before we joined." At least the shem wasn't even trying to deny it.

Lenya snorted. "Obviously."

"You will be battling the darkspawn, yes? I know after what happened you'll need all the help you can get." The shemlen spoke quickly, not missing a beat. "That's why I'm coming along. It is the Maker's will for me."

"What?" Both Wardens asked in unison. Odd how _ this _ was the first thing they agreed upon.

Leliana smiled at them. "The Maker told me to join you. Surely He wouldn't do so without good reason."

"Ooookay. Backing away slowly now," she said and motioned for her Mabari to follow. "Come, Revas, we are leaving." This human was clearly missing more than a few wheels on her araval.

"Please, wait. I-I know this sounds... absolutely insane. But it is true. I had a dream, a vision!"

"And this is helping your case... how?"

"More crazy?" Alistair shook his head. "I thought we already covered this part with Morrigan." Turning around to the witch, he feigned a confused blink."Oh... you're still here? I keep forgetting that, sorry."

"I can jog the failed templar's faulty brain with a fireball, if needed," she remarked casually - though even the most nonchalant reply sounded like a threat on Morrigan's lips.

"I have not failed my training," he scoffed in return, all humor gone. "I have been recruited to the Grey Wardens. Obviously."

"Oh... most touchy, aren't we?" She raised her free hand to him. "And if you had not been recruited? What would have happened, instead?"

He rolled his eyes at her and kept his voice deliberately monotone. "I would have turned into a drooling lunatic, slaughtered the grand cleric and run through the streets of Denerim in my smallclothes, I guess."

She threw him a smug smile. "Your self-awareness does you credit."

"Huh, yeah, I thought you would like that."

Lenya pinched the bridge of her nose and counted up to ten in the attempt to not _ murderstab _her fellow Warden and the bickering witch. Maybe a buffer between these insufferable, noisy shemlen would not be the worst idea. Even if said buffer was utterly insane with her visions and blathering about her shem god. She most likely going to regret this, but nevertheless Lenya turned around and away from the door. Unfortunately, the loony woman took this as an invitation to continue talking.

"What you do, what you are _ meant _ to do, is the Maker's work."

"Yeah, yeah." _ Shut up. _ "You can fight, I take it?"

"I can fight, yes. More than that, even." Leliana smiled at her, pleased with the turn of events. "As I said before, I wasn't always a lay sister. I have put aside that life before coming here, but if it helps you, I will pick it up again gladly."

"Good," Lenya said, waving her off. "Get rid of that ridiculous robe, then you can come with us."

She ignored her companions' objections as she rushed to the door and outside. She needed to get away. From all these shemlen staring at her, from the sour smell of the tavern burning in her nose, and from the noise of all the humans here.

.

.

* * *

.

Alistair was hot on her heels, but she was quicker. "Lenya, wait!"

His voice prompted her to stop at some distance, at least. Next to her, Revas barked out, as if waiting for Alistair to speak up. Before he had a chance to, the sound of the door of the tavern opening and closing distracted him.

"You forgot your shield," a lilting voice said, and he watched as she put it down next to him in the muddy grass.

Alistair glanced up to see the lay sister standing next to him. Her chantry robe and face were covered in blood splatter, though he didn't look any cleaner. "T-Thanks," he managed, "Your name is Leliana, right?"

The woman nodded and pointed in Lenya's direction. "I don't think your leader likes me much."

"That makes two of us." His laugh was humorless. Alistair was about to turn back to an already distant Lenya, as her words registered with him. "L-leader?"

"Yes. Is she not?"

"I -" If he was honest, he had never thought about it, caught up in his grief as he had been these past few weeks. "We never discussed that," he admitted and gave up on the plan of following his fellow Warden, who was by now only a tiny dot in the distance. He could only hope she would return, given her tendency to flee.

"Oh?" Leliana tilted her head, causing her chin-long, auburn hair to fall aside. "I didn't mean to assume... but she is quite forceful, no?"

He had to suppress a grin at her careful choice of words, for they were an understatement. "Yeah, I guess Lenya is, at that." Only now he realized how he had fallen in line with his fellow Warden, how he had left most of the decisions to her, if not all of them. It seemed to be for the better, especially right now with all that had happened. Even if he was her senior Warden - by the grand total of six months, wow - he was no leader and never would be.

Alistair felt the woman's gaze upon him and squirmed a little, disliking the scrutiny. "You both seem very young too," she stated and sat down on a wooden barrel standing close to the tavern. All of her motions were graceful but seemed controlled and calculated at the same time. Obviously there was more to her than crazy talk about the Maker.

"What?" Alistair snorted, crossing his arms. "Did your vision not show you that?"

"I know it sounds stupid, but please believe me, it is the truth." She groaned, rubbing her hand over her eyes. "Since we will be working together, can we please start over? I didn't quite catch your name, Warden."

"Alistair." He shrugged. "Not that anyone uses my name these days, though. Not since -" His voice cracked, swallowing the end of his sentence as he glanced away.

"I heard of Ostagar; we all did. Hawke... she was there, with her brother." Her voice dropped, becoming soft and understanding. He couldn't even remember when someone had last spoken to him in such a tone. "I did not believe the Teyrn's lies. The Grey Wardens are just, they would never betray the king. And many good people lost their lives when Loghain quit the field. It is simply not right!"

"Yeah..." His voice was barely more than a whisper. His throat felt too tight to speak.

"I'm sorry, Alistair." Her concerned gaze threatened to vanish behind a haze of tears. "You must have lost many friends that night."

Alistair turned his face away with a sharp intake of breath and refused to look at her for a long moment. He could not break down- not again, not here. Inwardly he counted to ten, then twenty, while pushing the tears back down. They could be dealt with later, when he had found a corner to himself. "That accent- you're Orlesian, right?" he deflected, his voice still shaky.

"Yes. I was born in Orlais and spent most of my life there, but my mother was Fereldan," she said, and relief washed over him. She wasn't going to push him to talk more about Ostagar. . A part of him wished for someone to confide in, to voice his grief, but she was still a literal stranger. _ Just like your fellow Warden _ , the helpful bit of his brain supplied. He really hated that cynical bastard, spilling out the things he wanted to hear - or think- least. "She was a servant to an Orlesian noblewoman, who took me in after my mother's death," she added after a small pause.

"I see," Alistair said, not sure what to make of that. "And how did you end up in Ferelden, as sister of the Chantry, then?"

"My, curious, aren't you?" Leliana's laugh was bright and sounded a bit fake. "I was a traveling minstrel in Orlais. Tales and songs were my life. I performed and the audience rewarded me with applause and coin."

He frowned. "That doesn't answer my question."

"No?" Leliana gave him a pointed look. "Is it so hard to believe that after all my days spent on the road, I longed for quiet contemplation and prayer? My path has led me here, back to the homeland of my maternal family. And in effect the Maker has led me to you both, to aid you against this Blight."

"I suppose." Alistair still wasn't convinced by the reply she gave, but decided to drop the issue. It wasn't exactly as if he had been candid with his personal information, either. She could keep her little secrets. For now. "You must know Lothering like the back of your hand then, right?"

"Yes, of course. I have lived here for a few years now." She hopped down from the barrel and walked over to him. "We are working together now, yes? And I have promised to help you. So what do you need?"

"Honestly? Everything." He let out a little snort of laughter that quickly turned into a sigh. "We only have the clothes... err... _ armor _ on our back and were hoping to find supplies here. Needless to say, with what is happening, people haven't exactly been forthcoming."

"Oh..." Her face brightened. "I know people who can help us with our equipment, if you have enough coin."

"Yeeeeah," he drawled , "A bout that... we have a bit, thanks to Hawke and clearing out some bandits on the road." Damn, that evil witch still had that money - where was she, even? Not that he missed Morrigan's company, but she was an apostate on the loose in a village with templars on each corner. If she got caught, they would lose these coins. "I'm not sure it will suffice, though."

"I know just the place, then," Leliana said and pulled the bloodstained robe over her head .

"Maker, Leliana!" Alistair shielded his eyes from the crazy woman stripping in public all of a sudden. "Time and place."

She only laughed. "It is sweet of you, but you can look, you know? I am not naked."

"You are... not?" He still refused to open his eyes, just to be safe.

"No, and why would I be?" She nudged his arm. "What do you take me for? There are many people around us."

"I don't know. I'm not the one who-" Slowly lowering his hand, Alistair saw her standing in front of him, in a set of fine, darkened leather armor. He felt the heat rising to his cheeks. "Oh, you were wearing your armor _ underneath _ the robe?"

"Aww, look at you, your cheeks are reddened." Her smirk was yet another telltale sign of how there was more to her than being a chantry sister. "You are adorable."

Unbelievable, she was teasing him. Though the lighthearted manner in which it was done made it easy to forgive. "And you are evil."

"Yes, yes." She waved him off and bunched the robe together to carry it under her arm. "And I told you I was expecting you, no? So it shouldn't surprise you that I was prepared."

"Well, that may be. However..." Alistair shook his head. "It would be for the better if you don't go around and tell everyone about your reasons to join us."

"You mean my vision?"

"Yeah, that." The less attention they drew unto themselves, the better. Especially with the bounty that had now been placed on their heads. Maybe he should dress down to simpler clothes and store the Warden armor in a safe place? Then again, it was all he had left and if it got stolen ... no, no, _ no _ . He couldn't bear the thought. Besides, they already had barely enough money for equipment as it was, he didn't need to add to the list of things they needed .

Alistair let his eyes stray far beyond the muddy-green hills, toward the horizon. After all the rain in the past days, the weather was nice today. A clear blue sky stretched overhead and across the creaking windmills in the distance. The warmth of the sunlight upon his skin was welcomed and helped to keep his sadness at bay.

She must have noticed his wandering gaze, since he felt her eyes upon him. "What about your fellow Warden?"

"I think she simply needed a break from... all the people here. Lenya has never been in a human village before, after all."

"Oh?" she asked and brought her hand up to shade her eyes. "Has she told you that?"

"No," he said, and his words adopted a somewhat bitter note. "We don't talk much. She isn't exactly at my side by choice, you know?"

"I see," Leliana hummed, tapping her chin in thought. "But she stays at your side nonetheless, no? And I think that is what counts." Turning, the woman started to walk toward the bridge and the large building - the Chantry - behind it.

"Yeah..." he breathed and lingered for a last glance into the distance where Lenya had vanished. He could only hope she would return soon.

.

.

* * *

**Change Notes:**

_I used some canon scenes that I rewrote to fit it in my story. Otherwise it is wholly new written chapter, with the goal to include my canon Hawke for a bit to make my verse more coherent. I also put the focus on Lenya and her discomfort to be under a large group of humans. Also yay for Leliana, who not only joins up much faster than in my old version, but also instantly gets along with Alistair._

_Thank you for reading. Please consider leaving me a review, if you enjoyed this chapter. It would be much appreciated :)_


	8. Little Talks

**A/N****: **_This chapter had been originally written and published on Ao3 in April 2018. If you want to see the up-to-date version of this story, come find me on Ao3 under the same nickname (Merilsell) and story name (Of Elves And Humans: Redux). Enjoy?_

* * *

.

**Chapter 8: Little Talks**

.

To his surprise, his fellow Warden returned only a half hour later. So did Morrigan, much to his dismay.

Without an explanation on where she had been, Lenya helped them complete the various tasks and odd jobs Leliana found for them on the Chanter's board or from the villagers. Acting as mediator between the Wardens and the people in Lothering, her bright and easy-going nature made negotiations with them a lot easier. In the end, it even earned them some extra coin for supplies from these tasks.

After clearing out a group of bandits lurking at the fringes of the village, the companions split up once more. Alistair took over the task of using their money to buy the required equipment, while Lenya opted to stay back and finish off the remaining tasks. Leliana had decided to keep an eye on Morrigan, probably to protect the witch from the templars and the other way around in equal measure.

Leaving the merchant's shop, Alistair steered toward the separated farmsteads in the back of the village. While the taint in Lenya's blood was still subdued, he was still able to pinpoint her whereabouts. He only had to concentrate on it a little harder, to hear and feel her presence. The newly purchased hunting bow slung over his shoulder, he peered into the distance, hoping to see her. The farmstead's high-grown golden-yellow crops were tinted a faint red by the afternoon sun.

He found her sitting in the field of farmer Barlin. Around Lenya, a large circle of wheat was trampled down and colored crimson. Alistair found the cause for that and her own bloodied appearance in the massive animal carcass closeby. Approaching, he noted how Revas was gnawing on what looked like a large paw.

"You... killed a _ bear _?"

"It attacked me," she stated, not even looking up from grinding something to a paste in her mortar.

Of course. Alistair didn't even know why he was surprised about her being able to bring down a bear on her own. Lenya could probably force the archdemon into submission with a glare. The thought gave him a chuckle.

"What is so funny about that?" Stopping, she glanced up, her eyes sharp upon his. "I'm a trained hunter, shem."

Oh no, the bad 's' word. She probably thought he was ridiculing her, when it couldn't be any farther from the truth. He was impressed and terrified in equal amount. Damn, if he knew one thing about that woman, it was that she was scary, even without trying to be.

The smile vanished from his face. "It is not. You are just... terrifying."

"Good." Looking back down, Lenya continued her work, but he caught the upward quirk of her lip.

"May I?" Alistair pointed at a spot adjutant from her and only earned a shrug from her. He took it as permission to sit down. "Are these the healing salves for Elder Miriam you're preparing there?"

"Perhaps." Another shrug of her shoulders. "Or maybe it is poison I mix here. To sprinkle it onto your meal later on, if you continue to annoy me."

"Aww, no." Hugging his knees, the smile crept back into his expression. Unlike with Morrigan, with whom he had had the exact same conversation time and time again, Lenya's threat lacked the venomous edge. Her words were still biting, yes, but there was no disdain in her voice, like with the evil witch. "Then I would die and you would regret that."

Without looking at him, she huffed. "Are you sure about that, shem?"

"Yeeeees," he drawled, and an amused low rumble colored his voice. "Because then you would be alone with this mess of a Blight and...-" Gasping, his words halted as he realized what they were. _ I don't want that. _ No one deserved to feel as alone as he had in countless nights after Ostagar. Not even the scowling, taciturn Dalish, who happened to be his fellow Warden he knew nothing about and who disliked humans and... Even so, her sense for practicality must have momentarily superseded all her disdain for humans, or she wouldn't be sitting here finishing off a task that would help sick _ human _ villagers. After killing a bear.

_ Maker_.

Lenya didn't reply, not verbally, at least. However, her shoulders tensed and the staccato of her pestle increased, growing frantic and angry. Uh oh. Alistair leaned back to create artificial distance between them. Just in case. Propped up on his hands, he leaned back a bit further and watched the tufts of clouds moving overhead. Like he did back in Redcliffe, as a kid. The moment would have been peaceful were it not for the steady clanking sound and the coppery smell of blood biting his nose. The ache in his muscles from days on the road didn't help either. Stretching briefly, Alistair sat up straight again with a sigh.

Lenya still did her best to ignore him. She sat cross-legged with a bundle of freshly plucked elfroot spread out before her and the vessel of mashed up herbs placed in her lap. A few sweat-damp strands clung to her face, which was streaked with dried remains of blood, but she didn't seem to mind. Her hair - bound with a cord to a long ponytail - had the same color as the wheat swaying in the mild breeze. Alistair huffed. What an odd detail to notice about this stranger, his fellow Warden. His gaze briefly fell on the large mabari lying close to her, who did his best to ignore his presence, too. Typical. And yet it reminded him of something. Words which had run through his mind the whole day, after that last night in the woods.

"You know, underneath all the glares and grump, I think there is a really nice person in there somewhere."

Her movements stopped completely, then she looked up and at him. Though this time, her eyes weren't bearing their usual scowl or hardened stare, but surprise. Maybe a hint of shock, too. Alistair held her gaze for a moment, waiting for her to speak. Lenya's mouth moved in an attempt to form words, yet she remained silent with a frown. He took it as chance to elaborate on how he came to this conclusion. "It was you who sent Revas to me last night, right? That was kind of you. Thank you."

Lenya's frown deepened, but she didn't scowl. Her gaze remained open, if a bit confused. She blinked faster before averting her eyes. Fixing on a point in the distance, her voice adopted a quiet, sad note. "I know how it is to lose everything, everyone."

The breath caught in his throat while his gloved fingers bunched in the trampled wheat stalks in an attempt to ground himself. He regretted not having removed his gauntlets as his fingers itched with the need to feel the earth beneath him. Exhaling at last, the air left his throat in a shaky sigh. Her words struck him and his regret didn't end at the mere loss of tactile sensation. Caught up in his problems and grief, he hadn't even noticed how much Lenya had lost, too. Uprooted from her people, she had been thrown into this, without any say in the matter. No wonder she tried to escape as often as she did.

Maker, he had been so stupid.

"I'm sorry."

Her eyes focused back on him. "For what?"

"For not being the best company or help the past days and week." _ For being me, _ the helpful part of his mind added. _ Thanks again, brain. _ "For you having to leave your clan and your people."

Her lower lip trembled while her gloved fingers tightened around the pestle. The hardness returned to her features, turning her gaze into a glare. "I don't need your pity, human."

Ah. This seemed to be another thing Lenya tended to do. Recoiling and lashing out as soon someone tried to coax words out of her. Always distant, she didn't share; her wounds and pain were her own. Alistair had to respect that and still he couldn't help but wonder _ why _ she did it.

_ Because she doesn't know or trust you. _ Right, but it was a bit hard to have these little talks to get to know each other when one party refused to engage in them. He let out a sigh, peering back upwards to the sky for a moment.

"Did it help?" Lenya asked so suddenly that her question didn't register with him at first. Even as it did and he looked back at her, he wasn't quite sure what she meant."Revas..." she added. Upon hearing his name, the mabari sprang to his feet. Whining, the dog wagged his stumpy tail and headbutted her side as he begged for attention. Lenya gave it to him, in form of a few scratches of his head. He made it look so easy.

"Ugh, you are all bloody, _ fen _ !" She wrinkled her nose, and the mabari let out an offended _ wuff _. Probably because Lenya didn't look much cleaner herself. Alistair watched the two interacting for a bit and noticed one thing: She was at ease with the hound and spoke with and teased the animal like a friend. So Lenya wasn't as closed off or emotionally cold as she wanted people believe her to be. She just needed time, to be given the chance to open up at her own pace. Maybe she never would, but it wouldn't for lack of trying. He wanted to, needed to, even. Lenya was now the only other Grey Warden in Ferelden after all.

"Yes, it did help, at least a bit," he said after Revas had settled down again, and kept his eyes trained on the hound, for a bit.

"Good." Alistair could hear the smile in her voice, which was completely contrary to her prior harsh reaction. "Is that the hunting bow?" she asked after a small pause, pointing at his armored shoulder.

Oh, right. This had been the reason he had sought her out in the first place. Well, not the only one, if he was honest. Alistair shrugged the bow from his shoulder and handed it over to her. Lenya ran her fingers across the curved, simple wood, testing its flexibility with a frown. He knew nothing about bows, beyond that this one was much smaller in size than the one Leliana seemed to favor. Lenya sat upright, her posture rigid as she fully drew back the bowstring a couple times.

"It is garbage," Lenya stated, after relaxing the bowstring again. "The draw weight feels off. It is far too light."

"Why is that bad?" he asked.

"A bow is meant as a quick method to kill an animal on a hunt. Unless this is meant to slay hare only, it will cause larger game needless agony. If the impact is even enough to seriously wound the animal, so it cannot flee." She put the bow down with a scoff. "It feels like a toy of a _ da'len _."

"So, bow bad. Got it." Shaking his head, he reclaimed the bow and tested it himself. He had the needed strength to draw the string back with ease, but lacked the expertise and endurance to keep it drawn with the correct poise. He probably looked -

"You look stupid." Ah, yeah, _ that _. She verbalized what he already thought.

"Well - fitting then, right?" Alistair relaxed his posture and put the bow down. He folded his arms across his chest, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. "Since I _ am _ stupid."

"No, you are not," she immediately said, quietly but firmly. "Stupid, I mean. Just very, _ very _ annoying." It took him by surprise that she didn't lose a second to object his self-deprecating words. Given, only to add her own set of insults, but it was still... unexpected. Coming from her, it was almost praise.

For a moment he didn't know how to react to that - then the laughter bubbling up in his throat made the decision for him. "Look at me, moving up in the world. I feel honored."

"Ugh." Rolling her eyes, she made a face. He smiled to himself. Yep, that was more like it. Lenya reached beside her and handed him a small fabric bundle. It bore that faintly sweet elfroot smell. "I finished the salve bandages for this old shemlen. Can you take it to her?"

Slowly, he got up, aware of why she asked him. "It can be noisy, huh? Especially with all the refugees streaming in from the South."

Lenya glanced down at the bundle of elfroot in front of her and huffed. It sounded frustrated. For a moment, Alistair wondered what kind of person she had been before all this, back with her clan. He would never know, he supposed. Then again, he wasn't the same anymore, either. Not since jolting awake in Flemeth's hut, aware of Loghain's betrayal. They both had lost so much, albeit in different ways.

And now they were here, together, fumbling toward a goal that was far too large for them. But there was no turning back anymore. No one would come and teach them _ how _ to fight against the Blight. Any Warden who _ could _ was miles and miles away, either in Orlais or further still, in Weißhaupt. There was no one, only them. Without him and his fellow Warden, Ferelden would be lost.

_ Great, no pressure. _

"We can leave today," Alistair offered as the pause between them stretched until it was uncomfortable. "And we should, once we've gathered all the equipment we bought. Further down the Highway we will surely find a place to camp."

"What then?" Grinding her jaw, Lenya stared up into his eyes, and challenged him. "What then, huh?" she repeated, louder now. "After we leave this stinking shemlen village? Where do we go?"

"I don't know," he admitted, his voice small. Alistair wanted to tell her about Redcliffe, and Arl Eamon, but he feared what it meant. With the king dead, he - _ no _. He couldn't even think it. It was all too much. Thus, he remained silent, the non-answer unsatisfying for both of them.

She jumped to her feet in a quick motion and invaded his space as she glared up at him. "This is absolutely insane, all of it is. I thought that when we reach this place then -" Lenya bit her lip, her body so tense he could feel her trembling. His fingers caged within the gauntlets twitched again with the need to touch, now to make it better. He knew he couldn't. He couldn't do anything. When she looked at him again with her perpetual scowl, her eyes glistened with unshed tears. "I did not run, because of what Asha'belannar said, but now I believe that maybe I should have."

"Running away?" Anger twisted in his gut and quickly superseded his empathy for her. "Is that your answer to everything, Lenya?"

"Well..." Her eyes narrowed further, her lips held tight. "It is _ one _ more than you have, _ Alistair _." This was the first time she'd ever used his actual name, and she pronounced it with scorn. It ruined the moment, the wish of hearing it from her lips. Not like this. "We cannot do this on our own. We should... - " She gestured wildly in the air, as if plucking the words from there. " ...search for other Wardens. Let them handle this."

"There is no one else," Alistair snapped without meaning to, adding fuel where none was needed. "It is only us." His breathing became ragged and he pressed his eyes shut. Shit, not here, not now. It wasn't safe; he was not alone. He couldn't cry, _ shouldn't _. Alistair swallowed, stifled, and yet it kept bubbling up. Not only fear but the remembrance of last night, the loneliness and desperation. "Don't leave me alone with this, please." He didn't recognize his own voice in these words, so tiny and frail. He hated its sound, the uphill battle against the grief constantly clawing at him.

When he clasped his mouth with one hand to hold back the outcry and felt hot, wet trails of tears across his cheeks, he knew he'd lost the struggle against it. Alistair lowered his head in shame, expecting mockery but earning only silence. He was aware of her presence, more than he even wanted to be. She still stood close, not having moved since his sudden words. Not daring to open his eyes and see her expression, Alistair listened to the uneven rhythm of her breath. She was so close he could smell the blood on her skin and the hint of herbs. Revas whined, sounding agitated and worried by the situation taking place.

"I _ am _ here, am I not?" she asked suddenly, making his head snap back up and his eyes open. Her figure remained blurred through the tears.

Alistair blinked to clear his sight, exhaling shakily. "Y-yes. Yes you are." _ Thank you. _

Her sigh sounded defeated. "Even if I don't know why."

"That makes two of us, I guess," Alistair said, his smile brittle but _ there _. Then it struck him. Of course, why hadn't he thought earlier of it? "The treaties... have you looked at them yet?"

Crossing her arms, Lenya's brows creased together. "No... should I?"

_ Yes _, he thought but refrained from voicing it. He didn't want to cause new strife. "There are three main groups that we have treaties for: The Dalish Elves, the Dwarves of Orzammar and the Circle of Magi."

Arms falling to her sides again, her eyes grew wide. "My people?"

"Yes... that would be the obvious choice, since you are -"

"No. Absolutely not!" Lenya interrupted him in a tone that left no room for discussion.

."Okay..." Alistair couldn't comprehend her vehemence against seeking out her people first. Didn't she miss them? And... _ oh _. That was exactly the problem, wasn't it. "We don't have to decide right now, Lenya," he amended, letting the topic slide for now. "I'm just saying that we have options and places to go to for help. We don't have to run like headless chicken across Ferelden. Unless... -"

"_ Venavis _, human," she groaned, rolling her eyes. "No more of your stupid jokes or words."

"My jokes and words are stupid, but _ I'm _ not? Huh, funny, that."

"Don't make me reconsider," she warned, but her annoyance only fanned his amusement. However, the carcass of the bear further across the field told him not to push his luck.

"Right, I'll get out of your hair then and deliver the potions. Salves. Medicine thingies. You know what I mean. " Alistair pointed at the untouched bundle of elfroot at her feet. He had thought it was for Elder Miriam, but that seemed not to be the case. "What about these herbs there?"

"This is for our ration of medicine. I'll stay here and prepare them." With that, she settled back down on the ground and glanced up him. "Come back in an hour or two, but bring a large bag."

His brows wrinkled. "A bag? What for?"

"For the bear meat and fur, of course."

Of course. How stupid of him to dare to even ask. Given her incredulous look, Lenya thought the same.

.

.

* * *

.

An hour later and with his fellow Warden and a lot of bear meat in tow, Alistair met up with the rest of the group. Leliana, the size of her backpack significantly increased, was chatting away with some villagers, while Morrigan stared off into the distance, as if trying to will herself away from the commotion and people around her by thought alone. Alistair wouldn't have minded if she actually were able to, as it would mean having to spend less time in her grating presence. However, there was still the issue of the money she had gotten from the bandits.

Turning to stare at him upon noticing his gaze, her eyes narrowed.. "Have a care where your eyes linger, Alistair."

"Yes, well, don't worry. It's not what you think." It really wasn't. He would never look at her in _ that _ way, as a woman to be desired. Objectively speaking, the witch was beautiful, yes... yet it was a cold beauty, devoid of warmth and depth. Like a wyvern was pleasant to look at from a distance with its colorful scales, but far too dangerous up close. He grinned. "I was looking at your nose."

Morrigan's scowl lessened to a small frown, and her tone gave away some curiosity. "And what is it about my nose that captivates you so?"

Oh, this was too easy. Either Morrigan was too focused on being uncomfortable among the people around her to recognize his real intent, or baited by talking about her looks. Given how out of place she appeared to be and her tense posture, Alistair thought the former more accurate. "I was just thinking that it looks exactly like your mother's," he said, enjoying how every single one of his words hit their mark.

With a scoff aimed more at the sensation of being caught out than toward him, her expression instantly warped into scorn. "I _ hate _ you so much." Next to him, he could feel the questioning gaze of his fellow Warden, though it did little to lessen his amusement.

The conversation Leliana was having with a couple of villagers died down, mainly because a blonde girl of maybe ten years broke away from the throng of people and ran toward Morrigan. "I like your feathers!" When the witch didn't react, the girl added, "On the shoulders of your robe, I mean. They are pretty!"

What happened next was unexpected, and going by the surprised outcry of the people behind him, not only for him. Morrigan looked at her, and smiled. "You think so, little one?"

"Yes." The girl got up on the balls of her feet and gasped. "Are they magic?"

"Perhaps." The witch shrugged, feigning indifference that did not reach her expression. "More important is, however, why you are still in Lothering, little one? Shouldn't you be on your way to safer parts?"

"Because of the darkspawn?" The girl pressed her lips together and nodded. "We will leave. My ma is still busy packing up our wagon for the journey to Denerim."

"Violet!" A middle-aged woman with the same long, blonde hair, braided around her head, pushed through the small throng of onlookers. "I'm sorry she's bothering you," she said to Morrigan, a bit breathless. With her simple clothes, the freckles on her face and tanned skin, she appeared to be one of Lothering's farmers.

"But Maaaa," the girl protested in a way that was typical of kids her age, including a pout. "You said I should go elsewhere until you finished packaging, and now this isn't correct, either?"

The woman gave Morrigan a telltale glance. "Not if you are bothering others that are surely glad to be on their way themselves, Violet!"

"Here." Plucking a long raven feather from her robe, the witch leaned down to hand it to the girl. "'Tis a long and dangerous journey that awaits you, little one. These lands grow dark and will become darker yet in the days to come. May you stay safe and keep your curiosity about the world."

"It _ is _ a good luck charm," Violet beamed, showing the feather to her mother. "Look!"

"Yes." The woman seemed less appreciative of the gift and practically shoved her daughter away from the witch. "Now go help your brother load his belongings, so we can leave soon."

Waiting until Violet was out of sight, she sighed. "I don't mean to appear rude, but -"

"For someone not wanting to appear so,you succeed at it marvelously," Lenya cut into her words and let out a scoff. "Humans, _ typical _."

"What my fellow Warden wanted to say -" Alistair started, but didn't get any further.

Whipping around, she fixed him with a glare. "Do not speak for me, _ human _!"

"Oh right, sorry." He sounded more annoyed than intended, but Maker, he was just trying to help.

"Look, I know you people don't mean any harm..." the woman amended, ignoring their small quarrel. "...but with all that is going on; the lost battle in Ostagar, the approaching darkspawn horde, the Qunari in the cage, it would be better if you left our village. People are already scared enough, y'know? We don't need to draw the ire of the Teyrn on us for hosting Grey Wardens here."

"Wait..." Alistair said, frowning. As much he could sympathize with her fear, there was a particular part in her sentence that drew his attention. "What was that about a Qunari in a cage?"

She seemed taken aback by the question. "You haven't heard, Warden? The Revered Mother ordered he be put in a cage for his crimes, left behind for the darkspawn's arrival."

"Why am I not surprised?" Morrigan spoke up, disdain in her voice. "A man and capable warrior left to be torn by pieces by darkspawn. 'Tis a fine example of the Chantry's mercy, is it not?"

"Capable warrior?" Alistair could practically see the wheels turning in Lenya's head as she stepped toward the farmer. "Where do I find this... Qunari, human?"

"Past my farmland to the east," the woman pointed over her shoulder into the distance. "You can't miss the cage. But you aren't thinking of releasing a murderer, are you?"

Not listening any longer, his fellow Warden already moved into the appointed direction, leaving him no choice but to follow.

.

.

* * *

.

Reaching his cage soon after, Lenya stared up at the giant man held within. He was ignoring her, his deep voice reciting what sounded like a prayer in a foreign tongue.

_ "Shok ebasit hissra. Meraad astaarit, meraad itwasit, aban aqun. Maraas shokra. Anaan esaam Qun." _

Repeating his prayer another time, the frown etched further into his bronze, weathered skin. Then, he turned and opened his eyes to look down to her. They had an odd and deep lilac color, contrasting starkly with the white of his long hair. Each of the strands were braided tightly against his skull and bound to a ponytail. "I have nothing to say that will amuse you, elf. Leave me in peace."

Lenya stepped closer still, until her upper body nearly touched the simple metal of his cage. It was barely large enough for his staggering height, not large enough for him to sit down. "What are you?"

Behind her the rattling sound of armor told her that her fellow Warden had finally managed to catch up with her, and with him, the rest of their group.

"A prisoner. I'm in a cage, am I not?" he said, his tone dry. "I've been placed here by the Chantry."

"The Revered Mother said he slaughtered an entire family," the red-headed shem spoke up. Lenya had already forgotten her name and didn't care enough to ask for it. "Even the children,"

"It is as the human tells you," the giant man agreed. "Now leave me in peace. I will not last much longer without food and water."

"Longer?" Lenya cocked her head. "How long have you been in here, then?"

"Twenty days now. It will only take another week, then I will die."

"Wow." Her eyes grew wide. Not only could he probably rip darkspawn to pieces with his massive hands alone, the Qunari also possessed an endurance unheard of for any other race in Thedas. "That is a damn long time without any kind of nourishment."

He scoffed. "Compared to your kind, maybe."

"Why are you so keen on dying, when I could set you free instead?" Crossing her arms, Lenya glared up to him. Sure, he murdered people,even felt guilty for the deed. Yet leaving him rotting to atone for what he'd done seemed such a... waste. "You look as if you have not only seen many battles, but would also prefer to die in one. I can offer you both, if you wish."

At that, Revas barked out and ran toward the distanced farmland past the hills, leaving Lenya to wonder what this was all about.

"Yes. I am Sten of the Beresaad -the vanguard- of the Qunari peoples." He shook his head. "And you are very confident for a person so tiny."

"I'll say," Alistair laughed out but quickly cleared his throat as the Dalish bestowed him with a sour look. "Not to put too fine a point on it, but it is indeed true that qunari are renowned warriors. If we can free him, perhaps he will be able to help us, Lenya."

"To be left here to starve or to be taken by the darkspawn," the chantry shem mused, her lilting voice grating at the headache blooming behind Lenya's skull. "No one deserves that, not even a murderer. We should ask the Revered Mother if she will release him into our custody."

"Yes, you do that, then," Lenya said, waving her off. "I will wait here with our supplies, so we can leave quickly afterwards."

"Aww, not keen on visiting the Chantry then?" The corner of Alistair's lips twitched upwards. As always the damn human was far too observant for his own good. "I can't imagine _ why _ you wouldn't spring at the chance to shake the Revered Mother's hand and thank her for all the good they have done for your people."

"What has the Revered Mother to do with her people, the Dalish?"

"History, Leliana. History." Her fellow Warden let out a sigh. "I studied it during my templar training, among _ way too many _ verses of the Chant." Alistair shuddered. "Have you any idea how many verses there are?" She gave him a look. "Right. Of course you would. As lay sister and all." He started to move, but stopped again to look over his shoulder when the chantry shem didn't follow him. "Shall we go, then?"

"You want to come with me?" she asked, somewhat amused.

"You know I would normally love to spend some more quality time here with Morrigan, but why not have a fun talk about releasing a giant murderer with the Revered Mother instead?" He shrugged with a snort. "Besides, I'm doing you a service, Leliana, because Revered Mothers' just _ love _ to yell at me. So while she is doing that, you can use the distraction to steal the key to Sten's cage."

The shem laughed out and patted him on his armored shoulder. "I am sure this won't be necessary, but I appreciate the thought. Come, then." With their departure, much sought silence returned, at last. While the witch remained standing, Lenya sat down on the grassy ground, in between the many packages and bags of their supplies. Peering into the distance, the Dalish savored the stillness for a bit and wondered where her mabari had wandered off to. It wouldn't surprise her if the animal had finally realized what a terrible idea it was to follow her, fighting darkspawn.

"Perhaps we should put Alistair in the cage then, as soon we have freed the Qunari from it," Morrigan said after a while, a scoff in her voice.

Lenya looked up at Morrigan and arched an eyebrow. "You would like that, huh?"

She crossed her arms and looked down at her. "Hm, and you would not?"

"Don't get me wrong, Morrigan. I'm terribly fascinated by the stupid rivalry you both have going on, ever since meeting each other." Lenya paused for effect. "However, leave me out of it. I have enough trouble on my own."

Huffing, she glanced away. "Obviously."

Both fell into a silence again, one that lingered and stretched without anyone interrupting it with useless words. It felt far easier and natural to do so in the company of the witch than with her fellow Warden. In fact, Alistair struggled to not speak for even five whole minutes, unfortunately.

"On the other hand, it would be much more quiet without the talkative, annoying human," Lenya said, the humor in her voice quickly traded in for a groan. "Alas, he is also the only other Grey Warden besides me, so I doubt it will be a feasible option."

"You are a Grey Warden then?" Sten spoke up from behind her, halting whatever Morrigan was about to say.

"Not by choice, mind you, giant friend." She turned around to him, frowning. "Why are you asking?"

"My people have heard legends of the Grey Wardens' strength and skill." He paused to look her up and down with a snort. "Though I suppose not every legend is true."

Before Lenya had time to feel offended upon his comment, Revas reappeared in the distance from behind the hills. The silvery object he carried was way too large for his muzzle, which didn't stop him from dragging it after him nonetheless. Seeing his mistress, the hound adapted a quicker trot, while stubbornly holding onto the item with his teeth. As he approached, Lenya saw that it was a weapon; a greatsword to be exact. Revas reached her soon after and spat it out at her feet. Panting, he looked up at her as he waited for her reaction, most likely praise. For a brief moment, Lenya was unable to give him either.

"I think... my Mabari has found a weapon for you, Qunari." Revas barked in agreement. "I hope you like using greatswords."

The Qunari only let out a noncommittal grunt, while eyeing the weapon like he had done with her before. "It has to suffice, small as it is."

Petting Revas for his deed done, Lenya observed the weapon in front of her. Its long blade was crusted in dried blood and it was easily as large in height as herself. Well, to be honest, if you were as large as the Qunari, everything would be appear small to yourself. She noticed how Revas tensed underneath her palm, heard him growling, while observing how the shadows of six figures grew larger on the ground. Lenya's head snapped up to see a group of men, all clad in simple clothes instead of armor, approaching her.

"We done heard what was said. You're a Warden," a shaggy human stated, while pointing an iron dagger at her. His hand was shaking a bit.

She jumped to her feet, alarmed. "What? Did you glean that from the griffon emblazoned on my armor? Wow, such an eye for details, amazing."

Morrigan gripped her staff and brought herself into position. "I don't think these fools are here to banter, Lenya," she sneered.

"No..." Her gaze wandered from one shemlen to another, noticing their mismatched weapons and stained clothes. These were no bandits, nor warriors but simple, untrained farmers. "It seems these shemlen are here for the bounty on my head."

The man nodded and held his chin up high as he glared down at her. "I don't know if you killed King Cailan, and Maker forgive me, I don't care. But that bounty on your head could feed a lot of hungry bellies."

The other men approached even closer, effectively cutting off any escape route for them. Revas reacted to the increased proximity by baring his large fangs, ready to attack any moment. Despite their advantage in number, fighting them would be a quick and gory affair Lenya would prefer to avoid. She wouldn't hinder these dimwitted lambs running headlong into their own slaughter if they were so keen on throwing their lives away, yet it all seemed so... pointless. "Look around you, shem'alas. Do you seriously think you fools have _ any _chance of winning this fight?" She drew her blades and readied herself, just in case. The energy of Morrigan's magic crackled upon her skin, as the witch conjured up a small electric current and flung it at the feet of two farmer opposite, deliberately missing them. They jumped back and shrieked out in terror, causing her to chuckle.

"If you value your pathetic life, 'twould be better if you listen to her. I care not."

Lenya noticed a small shift in mood, a bit of hesitance that wasn't there before. Glaring at them, she huffed out. "So what is it going to be, assholes?"

The shaggy human stormed forward to attack her, replying to her question without words.

.

.

* * *

.

"Soooo," Leliana drawled out, turning to him. "Your fellow Warden?"

"Yeeees?" Alistair replied in the same drawn out way. Two could play the game. "What about her?"

"Is she always so..." She waved her hands as she searched for fitting and probably not insulting words. "...distant? Cold?"

"What?" He laughed out. "Are you disappointed that Lenya hasn't offered to braid your hair yet? Sorry to say, but I don't think... that will happen. _ Ever _."

They took another turn past the tavern and had almost reached the Chantry. "No. I rather think she hates me," Leliana said after a short pause.

"Don't take it personally, but she doesn't like anyone. Except for the dog, maybe."

She frowned at him. "Not even you?"

"_Especially_ not me," he said, snorting. "You know... the human thing? Lenya isn't keen about that. At all. Besides she likes to keep to herself and since I like to be alive, I try to respect that." Alistair's mouth quirked up, into a lopsided grin. "She can be really scary, after all."

"Oh..." Looking at him with widened eyes, Leliana flashed him a smile. The kind that made him want to turn around, to run and hide.

The Chantry's entrance suddenly seemed miles away. "What?"

Her smile widened. "You... _like_ her."

Alistair stopped a half pace ahead of her and turned back, to stare at her as if she'd lost her mind. She probably had. "No!" Maker, he could feel himself blushing, which wasn't exactly helping his case right now. " Why is everyone..." Halting his words he released his breath as a frustrated sigh. "I... hardly even know her! Same for you, I guess. So I don't know why we are even discussing this."

"Sorry..." She grimaced. "I didn't mean to pry or assume anything."

"Yes, well, a little late for that," he said, sounding more harsh than he meant to be. After all, it had been just light hearted banter, but for some reason it got under his skin. "Look, just because she is my fellow Warden doesn't mean we get along, let alone are destined to be together. As I told you before, she isn't, nor am I, here by choice." Frowning, he shook his head slightly . "This isn't one of your ballads or stories, Leliana. ... Whatever they are."

"You are right," she amended with a sigh."However I have my lute now, so I can perform one of my songs or tales for you the next time we make camp, if you like."

Alistair chuckled. "Alright. As long you don't expect me to pay for it, as the last of our money went into a better, Lenya-approved bow."

"Nah," Leliana said with a giggle, while gearing toward the Chantry's door. "See it as included service for taking me along, as long you don't expect -"

"The evil shall descend upon us!" a dark-skinned Chasind man started to scream, interrupting her words. Clad in crude leather armor, he had a giant axe strapped on his back and marched up and down in front of the scared on-looker. "The legions of evil are on your doorstep! They will feast upon our hearts!" His voice grew even louder, adapted a despaired, near crazed edge. The people around him gasped out in fear, a child began to cry. "There is nowhere to run! This evil will cover the world, like a plague of locusts!"

Then his dark eyes fixed Alistair and with his finger, he pointed at him. "There! One of their darkspawn's minions is already among us!" Alistair rolled his eyes. Great, he seemed to be attracting crazy today, even if Leliana turned out to be pretty okay.

"Go on without me." He motioned her to leave. "I'll handle this."

She hesitated. "Are you sure?"

"Yup. I'm kind of interested in how that guy knows that I'm a Warden, armor aside." Alistair gave her a shrug. "And crazy or not, he seems easier to deal with than a Revered Mother, to be honest."

"Wait for me here, then?" Leliana asked, and he nodded to show her it was okay. He could handle Lenya-well, somewhat-so that guy would be nothing in comparison. "I'll be back as soon as possible." She turned to leave but stopped half a pace ahead again to look back over her shoulder. "And don't get hit by that axe."

"Generally _ always _ good advice, but thanks."

Using Alistair's moment of distraction, the Chasind closed in on him. "This man bears their evil stench. Can you not see the vile blackness that fills him?"

"Excuse me?" Alistair gasped out in fake shock as he stood his ground. He was half a head taller than the man, which made the last part a bit easier. "I bathe regularly, thank you very much!"

"I watched the black horde descend upon my people!" the man cried out and fell to his knees, forcing Alistair to step back from him. "Darkness swallowed the marshes whole and..." His voice cracking, he pointed at the Warden again. "This minion is but the first of those who will destroy us!"

The urge to knock the loony out cold was growing in him by the minute . However, the screaming of the man had attracted many onlookers, so punching him wouldn't be the best solution. Alistair didn't want to further worsen the reputation of the Grey Wardens, not with the bounty already placed on their heads. So he settled for another, much used weapon of his: Words. Folding his arms, he looked down at him. "Interesting party trick, screaming like that. Way too much doom and gloom for my taste, though. Can you not do, I don't know, literally _ anything _ else? How about using this big axe on the darkspawn you hate so much? _ That _ would help."

The Chasind sprang back to his feet and narrowed his eyes on the Warden. "Are you calling me a coward?"

"I'm calling you an idiot, more like," Alistair shook his head and huffed. "I mean just listen to yourself for a minute. I get that you are scared, but you are helping nobody here with your shouting. In fact, you are only making it worse."

"You...," He paused to stifle a sob, yet it broke through his words nonetheless. "I have shamed my ancestors. But the blackness _ will _ come!" Whipping around, the man gave chase into the opposite direction, toward Lothering's entrance. Good, everything would be better with him finally gone.

"He was right, wasn't he?" said a near-bald man, clad in a chantry robe. "There is no hope for us."

Or... not. "There is always hope, dear Brother," Alistair replied and tried to at least _ sound _ optimistic, even if he wasn't feeling it. "Muster your courage."

"You are right!" The Chantry Brother nodded. "We can't give up yet."

"Yes," another man agreed."We can't simply lie down and wait for our death here. We must go north, to Denerim."

"Thank you, Warden," the Brother said. "May the Maker be with you." After that, the group of onlookers slowly dispersed. And with them, some of the small wagons that previously had blocked the sight of the Chantry's humble flowerbed. It was largely overgrown with weeds; he spotted some elfroot among them, but approaching further toward it, Alistair also saw a rosebush.

Being left as untended as the flowerbed was, it didn't surprise him to find it dead. Its thorny branches were twisted; gray in color and gnarled. Yet at the side of it, there was a single white rose sticking out from the otherwise withered bush, and the odd contrast between life and death drew him in further. Leaning over the flower, Alistair observed its pearly-white petals for a brief moment. It was beautiful and strong, defying all the death around itself.

He should probably leave it alone, but the darkspawn would come and destroy it and... Before he knew it, his gloved hand reached out for the rose's green stem and plucked it from the gnarled bush. Now in his hands, Alistair was briefly unsure what to do with the rose. The belt bag of his armor wasn't exactly equipped to carry such a delicate floral item, but the voice calling out for him overrode any caution regarding it.

"Alistair?" It was Leliana, returned from her meeting with the Revered Mother. "Did you not hear me?"

Rushing to stow the flower away in his small bag, he turned around to her. "Sorry, I was lost in thoughts, I guess."

Leliana frowned, her teeth grazing her lower lip as if doubting his small lie. She held a large bundle of fabric in both of her hands. "I see you have managed to clear the air without bloodshed."

_ I'm not Lenya. _ Even if meant humorously, the thought was too cruel to articulate. So he settled for pointing at the object held within her arms instead. "So did you, I suppose. Unless that inside the bundle is-"

"Sten's armor, yes." Leliana pursed her lips, thankfully interrupting his ill-suited attempt at humor. "The Revered Mother has released him into my... our custody, and they still had his armor stored away. What did you think?"

"Nothing." Alistair averted his eyes and a faint blush spread across his brown cheeks. Where did these dark thoughts even came from? Maybe it was the rose which awoke the realization within how frail the peace here was and what would soon happen with this village and its people. The darkspawn would come razing, murdering, tearing everything apart like they did in-

"Alistair!" Her voice was brisk, cutting through the unbidden images assaulting him. "Are you spacing out again?"

"Sorry." He laughed out, its sound fake, too forced, while blinking rapidly. "What will happen to all those people we leave behind in here Lothering?" His need to talk it through superseded the one longing for ignorance, to close his eyes and plug his ears.

"Some of them will find their way to Denerim. Many will die. As the Maker wills." The large bundle hung low and heavy in her arms. Alistair gestured toward it, but Leliana negated his request to carry the armor with a shake of her head, and motioned him to follow. Slowly they moved away from the Chantry's entrance, back toward the east area of the village. "If the Blight isn't stopped, everyone will die. This is the greater good we're serving, both of us, and your fellow Warden."

His mouth snapped open as he stared at her. How could she talk so nonchalantly about it all, with so many lives on the line? "So it's all right to let some people die for the greater good?" Alistair shook his head. "I... I'm not so sure about that. I feel bad for leaving all those helpless people here behind to their impending slaughter."

Glancing up at him, Leliana sighed, but didn't slow her steps. "You're doing what you must, Alistair. There will be worse to come yet, and you will need to steel yourself for it."

Walking over the arcing stone bridge with the small stream purling underneath, they cut around the corner, past the windmills at each side. "I've never been very good at that. The steeling myself part, I mean." He paused to gather his thoughts, to find the right words. "I think it is better sometimes to just be a little weak. I'm alright with that, really."

"I don't believe you," she replied curtly, eyes straight ahead. "And either way-" Gasping out, the heavy bundle of armor landed with a dull thud on the ground. Frozen in place, Leliana stared past Sten's cage in the near distance.

Several villagers lay motionless on the ground, their blood tinting the grass underneath crimson. Alistair's stomach churned as he fell into a jog to approach them quickly, and the group standing in between them. Leliana followed close behind, as he made a beeline for his fellow Warden. Her blades still in hands and bloodied all over, there was no doubt that Lenya was responsible for this massacre. Rage rose like heatwave inside and burst out of him in sharp, loud words. "What have you done?" He gripped her arm to turn her around, to make her look at him. "I leave you alone for half an hour and you go about murdering innocent villagers?"

Her eyes grew hard, as she yanked her arm free from his grasp. She uttered something in a foreign tongue, but didn't reply to him.

"Innocent, pah." It was the witch, who scoffed. With her arms crossed, she stood nearby, leaning on the stone wall behind her. "'Tis typical that you, simpleton, would jump to this conclusion, instead of looking _ closer _."

"Oh really?" Alistair spat, head turning back to glare at Lenya. "What have these humans done to you then? Looked at you wrong?"

She didn't back down from his challenge but met his glare and ire with her own. The blades rattled in her hands as she shook, her whole body tense. Lenya pursed her lips to a sneer as she leaned in. "Fuck you, shem." A hint of hurt flashed across her expression before she whirled around and stomped away. Or maybe it had only been his imagination. Seeing her leave, Revas let go off the bloodied chunk of... meat he was chewing on and huffed as he passed Alistair.

Behind him, the Qunari groaned out. "Parshaara, _ they _ were attacked and just defended themselves. As they should."

Alistair turned around to the giant man. "Who attacked whom?"

"The _ humans _attacked the elf. Are you dumb in addition to blind, Warden?"

Morrigan laughed. "Oh, I already like you, Sten."

"He is right," Leliana said, while hovering over one of the villager's corpses. She looked up at him and held up a simple dagger found next to the body. "They were armed. Badly so, but still armed."

_ Oh crap. _ Alistair's eyes flitted toward Lenya who had put some distance between herself and them, but did not completely vanish from sight. It was more than he deserved, really. His eyes fixed on Morrigan again. "What happened here?

"Oh, _ now _ you are asking?" A smirk played around her lips. "Bit late, 'tis it not?"

The sinking feeling spread within his guts, along with the certainty that he had made a mistake. "Just tell me!" he snapped at the witch, harsher than needed or intended.

"I think they were here for the bounty the Teyrn put on your heads," Leliana replied in her stead and wiped her bloodstained hands against her leather armor. "These people were desperate, needed the money, and saw a chance. Still..." She paused with a frown. "... I'm not sure if such excessive force was needed to fend them off. These were simple farmers, no bandits."

"She warned them," Morrigan huffed, meaning Lenya. "These fools did not listen and ran into their own slaughter, like sheeps." Gathering her own small bundle of belongings from the ground and shouldering her staff, the witch left, heading in Lenya's direction.

"Great," Alistair breathed out. In one single moment he'd destroyed every bit of progress made with his fellow Warden the past days, however small. "I'm an idiot."

"Yes. Finally we agree on something."

He threw Sten a look for the dry remark. "But I'm still an idiot with the key to your cage."

Or more like Leliana was. Having reclaimed the bundle with the Qunari's armor, she stepped in front of his cage. Fumbling with the she key a bit, she finally managed to turn the rusty lock. The cage's hinges creaked as she opened its large door, but the Qunari remained rooted on the spot. " Am I to follow you into battle?" he asked, his lilac eyes narrowing. "It seems more likely that you should follow me, whelp."

Alistair bit down a groan. Fantastic, he had just excelled in making a lasting impression on everyone today. Alas not in a good way. "Yes, well," he said all too quickly, shouldering two of the large bundles. "How about I start with following you _ out _of this village then? I'm sure your redemption lies somewhere beyond it."

Alistair peered up the large stone bridge, toward the village's edge where Lenya lingered, and sighed. Regarding himself however, he wasn't quite so certain that redemption was an option.

.

.

* * *

.

**Change Notes: **

_Complete rewrite and deletion of the old version. Shifted the focus to the two Wardens and their interpersonal relationships (and their failing in them) Added and novelized the feather gift scene of Morrigan to find in WoT2. It is a much more personal chapter now for all characters, instead of a rehash of the events there._

_Reviews are most appreciated. Let me know what you think :)_


	9. Anger Management

_A/N: __This chapter had been originally written and published on Ao3 in June 2018. If you want to see the up-to-date version of this story, come find me on Ao3 under the same nickname (Merilsell) and story name (Of Elves And Humans: Redux). Enjoy?_

_._

* * *

_._

**_Chapter 9: Anger Management_**

_._

_Fire poured through her veins - ripping, burning. Under a blood-red sky, jarring flashes of a massive darkspawn horde appeared before her eyes. Above them all towered a behemoth of a crimson dragon. It roared, its echo reverberating through her marrow and bones. Panic gripped Lenya as the creature fixed her with its eyes, black as coal, its screeching voice scratching at the back of her skull. It saw her, it spoke to her, and she needed to get away, to escape its grasp before -_

With a scream, Lenya jolted awake. Frantic for air, for anything that was real, she gasped, while the dragon's purple flames still flickered in front of her eyes, bright and burning.

"Bad dreams, huh?"

_His _voice reached her in between her shudders, an anchor she could cling to to return to reality. Blinking once, twice, Lenya slowly willed the pictures in her mind away until only their camp was left. The ground beneath her rough-spun bedroll was cold and hard - but _solid _. Another anchor. The flames of their fire pricked her skin with their warmth. The all-consuming blaze within her nightmare had become an orange-red glow of comfort. It was no longer threatening - instead, it was _safe _.

Revas whined at her distress, and her hands reached out to tangle in his coarse fur. Lenya pressed her eyes shut again, and, still trembling, she let her head follow as she embraced her hound for solace. The mabari didn't move except to put his large head upon her shoulder; it was a welcome weight. He was warm and reeked of coppery blood, dust and the musk of wild animal. It was a smell similar to that of the animals she hunted and stripped bare for their pelt, back when she was still with her clan - back in another life. Her shudder turned into a dry-heaved sob, and her arms squeezed tighter around her dog's muscular body, holding on.

"Hey..." She heard his voice again, more grating now that it had gained a worried edge. "Are you okay?"

No, no she was not. Lenya doubted she ever would be again. "I'm fine," she snapped between clenched teeth and fists. With the pictures of her nightmare fading, the hot, lingering remembrance of the hours before stabbed her chest; of his foolishness and the accusations that had been made. It bubbled up from her guts to her throat, fueling the frustration already there. "Don't bother me," she added with the same sharpness. Her eyes, despite being open again, weren't looking at him. Instead, Lenya kept them trained on the flickering light of the flames and Revas' tawny coat.

_Stupid human._

"It's just that you were shouting in your sleep. Loudly. And not in a good, this-is-private way, either," Alistair amended, biting back a groan. He sat close by the campfire, hovering just outside of her peripheral vision. Even if she couldn't see him, her blood sung with his presence, bright as a swarm of fireflies in a murky forest. This was new - and maddening, and unwelcome. Her fingers, already bunched into fists in Revas's fur, clenched tighter in the futile search for control.

His stifled groan of frustration returned as a sigh. "You see, part of being a Grey Warden is being able to hear the darkspawn. The archdemon, it... _talks _to the horde, and we feel it just as they do," he explained, and it took her everything to not scream, at him and his words, at what she had become: a slave to their hivemind, a tainted beast in all but name. "That was what your dream was, Lenya. That's why we know this is really a Blight."

She hated how calm he was about it all, and how she had no choice in any of it. Yet again. "Are these dreams going to happen a lot?" she asked, her voice far too quiet for all the rage it hid.

"It depends," he said, adopting the same quiet tone. The sympathy in it churned in her stomach, unwelcome as his presence, which was still invading her senses. "It is harder during a Blight, but you will learn to block them out. The older Wardens say..." His breath hitched. "..._ said _they could understand a bit of what the archdemon says. I sure cannot, as I've been a Warden for only six months too and - " Alistair swallowed his remaining words. "Anyway..." He cleared his throat. "... I just wanted to tell you about this after I saw you thrashing about in your sleep here. It was also scary for me at first."

Her head snapped up to look at him at last. "You should have told me about this earlier!" The accusation wasn't fair, but neither had he been back in Lothering - and she was still angry about that, too.

_Stupid human._

"Yes, well..." The words came out a hiss, as biting as poison, while his eyes narrowed. "I've just been so distracted with the, you know, massacre of all my friends and the war and all that... _sorry _."

Lenya didn't back down, furious and the tiniest bit petulant. She'd have continued for hours if something hadn't whooshed past her vision and then appeared in front of her. It was the red-headed chantry shem she felt even less sympathy for than her fellow Warden, especially right now.

"Is something wrong?" she asked, picking up on the tension between them. "If this is about what happened in Lother-"

"No, it is not," Lenya snapped and was on her feet in one motion. Taut as a drawn bowstring, she trembled, shifting her glare to the woman. Then, she turned and stalked away before giving in to her rage, her thirst for violence.

.

.

* * *

.

Revas followed her, because of course he did, to _somewhere _these idiot-humans were not.

Having stopped within an hour of leaving that shem village, there were no trees on the side of the road she could vanish into for the rest of the night. There was not much of anything here to hide and curl up in. It was just her and her rage, caged in this flat terrain. The wide openness of it was treacherous, promising a freedom that didn't exist - not for her. Huffing, Lenya picked up a pebble from the ground to hurl it at the horizon that mocked her.

"Feeling better now?" a voice scoffed behind her, bearing a cool annoyance typical of the witch. She turned around only to recognize that she'd half-blundered into Morrigan's separate camp.

"No," Lenya admitted, chewing her lip, and scowled at her.

"Thought so," she huffed and settled back down at her own small campfire, oozing disapproval.

"Mind if I sit down?" Lenya thought about vanishing, seeking solitude in the terrain's wideness. Morrigan was the next best thing to that, her company more tolerable than the idiot screaming within her blood. His presence was still there, all around her, but the distance, however little, helped to subdue it.

Morrigan's eyes were keen upon hers, and then they narrowed slightly. "Only if you are not done hurling stones at the sky like a fool."

"I am... done." The admission was brittle and sounded a bit tired, because that was what she was. The nightmare had destroyed what little rest she had and any hope of further sleep with it. Before this, in another life, Lenya had enjoyed sleeping, tucked away in the safety of her araval or under the blanket of stars with soft grass underneath her. Overhead, the stars were hidden behind a thick tapestry of clouds. Fitting somehow - even this small thing had been stolen from her, like too much else already.

Morrigan continued to grind herbs into a paste, blissfully ignorant of her presence. She didn't speak, nor did she expect her to. It was perfect, silent companionship without the pressure of having to bare her soul to the witch, to justify her reasons and anger. The stillness between them lingered until Revas pushed past her and made a beeline toward Morrigan's open pack next to her. The wagging of his stump tail and a telltale _crunch _made it obvious that he'd found what he was looking for. Rooting through the satchel, the dog sniffed for more treats within, while the witch slowly but surely approached a dangerous shade of red.

"Revas!" Lenya urged him back, if only to keep Morrigan from turning him into an ice figure. He stiffened upon hearing his name and, with a low, plaintive whine, backed away. Instead of feeling guilty as he had first insinuated, the dog looked at his mistress with a doggy grin. Lenya tried really, _really _hard not to laugh._Smug bastard._

The witch was somehow less amused by the situation. "Ugh, can't you even keep your flea-ridden mongrel under control, Lenya?"

"Sorry?" she offered with a shrug, "but he isn't exactly mine, you know? He only chose to follow me." Revas barked eagerly in agreement.

"Obviously..." Morrigan gave the hound a withering look, and he had the grace to at least appear ashamed. "... he chose _not _to follow just now."

Lenya shrugged again. "Well... when there is food, all imprinting on me seems to cease existing."

"You just ate my entire bag of herbs, you foolish dog," the witch said to Revas with a scoff, and he whined. "Several of those herbs were poisonous. If they kill you, 'tis entirely your fault for being so gluttonous."

"Wait… hold that thought." Lenya would have been more worried about Revas if she hadn't already seen him gnawing on too many other things and surviving. A small smile bloomed across her face despite her sour mood. The implication of it was just too good for her to not be amused by it. "Herbs aren't crunchy. Did you buy treats for Revas?"

"Do not be ridiculous!" Morrigan scoffed, but a faint dusting of pink appeared on her pale cheeks. "I did no such thing!"

"Hey, I'm just saying, if my dog ends up poisoned, I will blame you," she drawled, teasing. "Since you stored them in your herb satchel."

"The idiot of a shopkeeper gave them to me for free when I bought my stash of herbs, said he saw me with a mabari." Morrigan crossed her arms and did her best to stay defiant. "I forgot they were still there."

Lenya laughed, not believing her one bit. "Sure, sure. Because the shemlen in that village were so forthcoming to strangers..."

"I do not need to justify my actions to you, Lenya," she said, glaring. Revas cocked his head and looked at the witch with a small boof that indicated he wanted more treats. She shifted her gaze to him. "I am certainly not going to give you more, even if I did have more to give, you foolish beast." The dog sagged dramatically to the ground with a pitiful whine. "Perhaps you should go and hunt something, then. For a warrior beast you are remarkably over-dependent."

"Should I leave you two alone to discuss this?"

Morrigan threw her another look for that comment. "Maybe you should just leave and return to your little circle of idiots over there." She pointed toward the main camp, where both humans still sat at the campfire.

"In case you still haven't noticed, that is exactly what I am trying to get away from," Lenya said. "You are easier to be around, since you don't judge me..." The witch huffed. "... _much _. His - _their _\- scrutiny... is maddening." She sighed, rubbing her face as her exhaustion settled deeper. "Sorry about the herbs. I can give you some from my stash, if you want."

"I'd prefer it if we stopped by another village soon instead." She frowned into the half-paste of herbs n her lap. "Given its situation, Lothering didn't offer much, and there is still much we need for our travels."

"Like new treats for Revas?" The dog perked up and gave a soft, agreeing woof. "Just kidding," she quickly amended, catching sight of the witch's glare. "I know what you mean. We still lack tents for half of us, clothes and cooking equipment. You know, small things like that. Herbs will be getting harder to find in a few weeks, too, with winter approaching. So it would be wise to stock up on them now." She cocked her head. "Do you have anywhere in mind? As you might have noticed, I am not particularly knowledgeable when it comes to shemlen villages."

"But I am?" Morrigan scoffed, though relented soon after. "Merinwood. 'Tis another small insignificant dot on the map, but 'tis further out west from here, and thus not in the path of the darkspawn horde.'Tis likely that we could find the remaining supplies we need there."

"Hmm," Lenya hummed, suppressing a yawn. "Then Merinwood it is. I value your input, Morrigan. You speak with purpose, not because you need to fill silence. Nor do you accuse me of shit I obviously haven't done."

"If this is about your fool of a fellow Warden, I am not interested."

Lenya glanced over to the separated campfire in the distance, the frustration dancing upon her tongue like a bitter herb concoction. "Yeah, me neither." She looked back at the witch. "Let's talk about you instead." Anything to keep her distracted from these pictures still so present in her mind and the invasive buzzing of that human inside of her whole being. "Have you been out of the Wilds often?"

"So... full of questions, are you?" Morrigan sighed, yet set aside her mortar and pestle to reply in earnest. "From time to time, perhaps. A world full of people and buildings and things was all very foreign to me, but I have been to the closeby villages, watched the people and pondered what curious beings they are," she said, yellow eyes straying into the distance. "There I spoke with men, a little. There they stared and knew me to be an outsider. On occasion, I purchased goods from the village merchants." Her eyes settled back on the Dalish. "Mother wished for me to expand the horizon of my experience beyond the Wilds. Even she was not born here."

"Asha'belannar..." Lenya breathed, the witches' deceptively frail appearance with its raw power thrumming underneath still fresh in her mind. "She seems to have a plan for everything and everyone, doesn't she?" She couldn't leave the bitterness out of her voice. She could still feel it lingering deep within her, the bitterness of being roped into this by the old woman and her guilt trip. "I know you are not here by choice either - not exactly. So... what do you want, Morrigan?"

"What I want..." The witch blinked and surprise crossed her features. "No one ever asked..." She stopped mid-sentence and pressed her lips together - the admission was too much, too personal. "What I want is to see the mountains. I wish to witness the oceans and step into their waters. I want to experience a city rather than just see it in my mind." She tilted her head. "So... yes. This is what _I _want."

Lenya smiled, but her throat and heart constricted too much to keep it up for long. "That does sound lovely, indeed," she said, her voice quiet. "Might as well do that while we run about the country for this fool's errand your mother has set us both on."

"That implies a lack of choice." Morrigan frowned at her. "You could have left to run after your clan, and I wouldn't have faulted you for doing so. Yet you _chose _to stay..."

"Yeah..." Lenya shrunk back a bit, her anger drowned out by resignation like a flame extinguished. Her fingers gripped a fistful of Revas's fur, making him whine with worry. "Maybe that makes both of us Wardens fools, then."

"No." The witch shook her head, and her eyebrows drew together even more. "'Tis not what I think you are."

_That remains to be seen, _Lenya thought. "Thank you," she said instead and settled back into easy silence.

.

.

* * *

.

Alistair looked over to his fellow Warden and frowned. An hour ago, she had been storming away in a huff, and now she sat at the campfire again as if nothing had happened. It gave him a peace of mind to see her return, but it changed little between them. Silent and not acknowledging him in the slightest, Lenya focused on cutting the bear meat into smaller slices for drying and smoking over the fire. He sighed, the sound mixing in with the methodical scraping of her skinning knife.

"Can I help you?" The answer to his question was apparent in the way her shoulders stiffened, but the urge to ask overruled the expected result nonetheless. Ever since the incident in Lothering, where he had stupidly accused her of killing these farmers, it was back to square one with Lenya. Well, she _did _kill them, but it hadn't been without provocation, like he'd thought - and told her. Even all the apologies he'd made while setting up their sparse camp had been met with cool ignorance and a perpetual scowl. Her fingers curled tighter around the knife's handle, her knuckles turning near white. Lenya chose evasion instead of confrontation and turned her back on him fully. Alistair stifled another sigh, not wanting to push his luck. The heavy footfalls behind him belonged to Sten, who made his patrolling rounds under a starless, blackened sky. Overall, the night would have been peaceful, nearly serene, even, were it not for the conflict with his fellow Warden gnawing at his insides.

A bit later, Leliana re-emerged from her small tent on the far left side of camp, a smile on her lips and her lute in her hands. Bright red hair ruffled from her nap, she walked toward him. "I think I still owe you a song or tale, Alistair."

"You... do?"

She sat down in the grass next to him, positioning herself so that she could survey the rest of their modest camp as if it were her stage. Crossing her legs, Leliana placed the lute in her lap and strummed it a couple of times to tune it. She looked up at him. "Yes, I promised you I'd perform one in Lothering. Now that I have rested a little, I'm making good on that promise. Any particular wishes?"

Alistair blinked. "No? I mean, you are the expert here, so I leave it to you."

"Good." Her smile widened. "Then how about a tale in a song? Each song tells a story, yes, but especially this one." Turning her head, she glanced over to Lenya, who still was concentrating on her meat preservation process. "You may like it too, Lenya, for it has its origin with the Dalish. It is called 'The Willow Maid.'"

Alistair saw a new stiffening of his fellow Warden's back at that, even more than after he had offered his help. As taciturn as she was, he'd quickly learned to pick up on her non-verbal cues. "I don't think this is a goo-" he tried to say to Leliana, but the first notes of her lute cut him off as she started to play in earnest.

Soon, Leliana's crystal clear voice filled the chill of night. Even Sten stopped his rounds to listen. The lyrics spun a tale of a young man coming across the aforementioned willow maid in a forest, falling in love with her, and trying to persuade her to leave with him to become his bride. Leliana's voice carried the right amount of longing and wistfulness, speaking of unrequited love as the man returned to the maid again and again, despite being rejected each time.

_"See me now  
__A ray of light in the moondance  
__See me now  
__I cannot leave this place  
__Hear me now  
__A strain of song in the forest  
__Don't ask me  
__To follow where you lead"_

Alistair huffed under his breath. That guy in the tale was obviously a bit too much of a jerk, refusing to take her no for an answer. Not only that, but he was outright disregarding her wishes and pleas, to the point of coming to the forest one day to fell the willow tree she lived in. He suppressed a roll of his eyes as Leliana's voice carried the song's lyrics over the edges of their camp.

Riiiight, _that _would certainly win her over.

_The maiden wept when she heard him  
__When he said he'd set her free  
__He took his axe and used it  
__To bring down her ancient tree  
__"Now your willow's fallen  
__Now you belong to me"_

Yeah, the man's entitlement wasn't _creepy _at all. Alistair shifted in place, becoming increasingly uncomfortable with the male character while his sympathy for the titular maid grew. She never wanted any of this to happen to her and had voiced it so many times. But the maid was given no choice, her home and place to belong robbed from her, and - _oh _. His eyes flicked over to Lenya, who had ceased all movement, except for a slight tremble of her shoulders. She stared ahead into the flames of the campfire, her posture tense. Did Leliana... no, she couldn't have known about the parallels when choosing that song. Alistair swallowed, his throat suddenly too tight. _Impossible _.

_She followed him out the forest  
__And collapsed upon the earth  
__Her feet had walked but a distance  
__From the green land of her birth_

He should look away. Any moment now, Lenya would notice his stare and whirl around to yell at him to stop - but nothing of the sort happened. Instead, her shoulders only sagged a little, as if she were giving up an internal battle. Alistair wasn't stupid. He very much pretended to be, sometimes even believed it himself, but if he recognized the parallels in these lyrics, so would she. Maybe even more quickly than he had. He couldn't see her face, only the strained curl of her hand around the knife's handle, holding on to the last threads of her stubbornness.

_She faded into a flower  
__That would bloom for one bright eve  
__He could not take from the forest  
__What was never meant to leave_

Her figure blurred before his eyes right as the last word of Leliana's song hung in the air. Alistair blinked once, twice, allowing himself the luxury of keeping his eyes closed and drawing in a shaky breath. A single trail of tears escaped, burning down his cheeks. It wasn't fair - none of it was. Why did the maid have to die, and why was he so affected by a simple song? _You know why _, the annoying voice in his head told him. "Yeah," he agreed, breathing out the word nigh audibly. When he reopened his eyes, Lenya's spot was empty. His gaze shifted to Leliana, who was peering in the direction his fellow Warden must have run off to, yet again.

"Oh," she uttered, lowering her lute and placing it on the ground. "I... had no idea."

His eyebrows drew together. "About what?"

Leliana blinked quickly, then turned to look at him. "That she is hurting. " She exhaled. "It all makes more sense now."

"It does?" he asked, a bit puzzled by her words.

"Her standoffish behavior, yes," the bard explained, nodding. "Sometimes music reaches where words cannot." And, not missing a beat, she added, "You should go after her."

"What? No no no, bad idea. Very bad." He laughed, but the sound lacked any humor. "Remember, I'm not exactly in Lenya's good graces right now, due to my brilliant conclusion in Lothering."

"She is your fellow Warden..." Leliana stated, using just enough of a guilt-inducing edge in her voice to give her words more weight than his own.

"Yes, one I hardly know, for that matter." Alistair hated the bitterness in his tone, the awareness of having lost the argument before it even started. He got up, though not without bestowing a defiant glower upon Leliana. "Fine. I'll go. But if I don't return, the Blight is _your _problem to handle."

She chuckled, looking far too pleased with herself. "Deal."

.

.

* * *

.

Finding Lenya was easy, the taint in her blood a beacon under a starless sky. The even terrain didn't gave her much possibility to slip away, either, unlike the forest they had camped in a couple days ago. Alistair didn't expect to find her like this, though. Sunken into herself, she sat with her back pressed into a crevice in the rocks around them. Her long hair was no longer bound back, and it spread out over her shoulders and face, a shield from the world. She inhaled, shaking a bit with every breath of air.

Alistair stopped in his tracks, frowning at the miserable figure. Should he proceed and intrude upon her space, like the jerk in the song did? Would she even accept his solace, or was it something he was doing for his own sake, to feel better and to calm Leliana down? Knowing he had been pushed into following her, the answer to these self-imposed questions seemed clear-cut.

"What do _you _want?" The rawness in her voice undid all his thoughts to turn around and leave her be. Given her furious stare, heightened by the gleam of light reflecting in her eyes, it would probably have been the better choice. But he simply couldn't do that, not while she was hurting like this - like he did for the loss of his home and family. No one deserved that, but Alistair doubted his ability to make it better. How would he be able to do it for others, if he couldn't even comfort himself?

"I-" He licked his lips and tilted his head a bit. "Were you crying?"

"No!" Lenya snapped, blinking away the telltale wetness lingering in her eyes. "Stupid song. Stupid chantry shem..." she muttered, more to herself than to him, yet loudly enough to be comprehensible.

Ah. Of course. He took another step in her direction, closing the distance between them until his hand touched the surface of her rock-made-refuge. "It is okay to cry, you know?" he offered, because there was nothing else he had to offer, lingering awkwardly between towering over her and trying not to.

"I don't need your permission, shem!" Her sharp annoyance added to the rawness of her tone, and he had to suppress the need to flinch. Alistair raised a hand to placate her, needing to let the other rest upon the solid stone for his own stability. Maybe this was the reason why she sat here in the crevice instead of out in the open - to ground herself.

"No, of course not," he amended, his voice as calm as his motions. He inhaled deeply, and the taste of wood smoke and dried grass lingered upon his tongue. To connect with a person, showing her that you understood, was difficult, even more so when the said person refused to acknowledge any attempt. Maybe it would be better if he turned around after all, before - "But it helps to do so, sometimes..." The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop himself. Damn it. "After... after-" Why was it so hard to say the name of that place? Alistair swallowed and tried again. "... Ostagar happened, it helped me."

Lenya glared at him. "I'm not you!"

"No, you are not." A hint of bitterness crept into his tone. "You can be glad about that, believe me."

Her eyes lost their hostility for a moment as she frowned at his words. "Leave me alone, human. I don't need your pity."

Funny - wasn't he just pitying himself right now? Alistair mirrored her frown. Exhaling, he shifted his stance. He was still towering over her with his sheer height and felt awkward about it. "I just think it is better to cry than to suppress everything that is troublin-"

She was on her feet in an instant, the skinning knife swinging at his throat stopped only by his quick reflexes and greater reach.

"I said, leave me alone!" Lenya screamed, every word accompanied by a tremble. Her eyes locked with his, her body completely tense. Each shuddering breath was a struggle against the need to cry. His heart thundered in his ears as he held her wrist and her gaze. Just like in camp, he knew he should look away, but just like in camp, he _couldn't _. Her pain and hurt made it impossible, mirroring his own so clearly. _If only she knew... _But this, _this _wasn't about him, nor did he have the right to make it so. Or else he wouldn't be any better than the jerk in the song. Her eyes, the fierce forest green unchanged since first meeting his in Ostagar, held on in defiance, even as they glistened with unshed tears. Underneath his fingertips, she flexed her hand into a fist around the knife's handle until he could feel the rage vibrating off her skin.

Alistair let go of her hand, but not her gaze, and took a step back. "I'm sorry," he managed in a whisper, meaning so much more with these two words than he was able to express. He heard the dull thud of the blade as it hit the ground, saw a glimpse of a tear rolling down her cheek as it spilled over at last. Lenya whirled away and melted into the crevice, trying to stifle her sobs and failing. His hand itched with the need to put it upon her shaking shoulder, to tell her once more that it was okay to cry. He suppressed the urge, because right now, he was nothing more than an intruder, like the guy in the song.

"Just... please come back before I managed to burn all the meat you prepared," Alistair said instead, and turned around to heed her wish of privacy, even as her sobs increased in volume.

.

.

* * *

.

**Change Notes:**

Some in game dialogue, otherwise completely original/added scene and newly written. Means it didn't exist in any shape or form in my old version of this story :D

Let me know what you think about it in the reviews. What did you like and what not? Will these sad, traumatized kids be ever happy and/or get along? (*cackles*)


	10. Fine Again?

**A/N:** _This chapter had been originally written and published on Ao3 in August 2018. If you want to see the up-to-date version of this story, come find me on Ao3 under the same nickname (Merilsell) and story name (Of Elves And Humans: Redux). Enjoy?_

_._

* * *

_._

**Chapter 10: Fine Again?**

_._

_When _Lenya resurfaced from a sea of tears she couldn't say. Only that when she did, she was no longer alone. Unlike the nosy human before, _his _company she could tolerate. Noticing her gaze, Revas heaved his head and looked at her, whining.

Lenya sniffled, wiped at the remaining tears in haste. "Don't worry, I'm better now." Unsurprisingly, what Alistair had been said about crying had turned out to be true. Not that she needed, nor wanted a human to tell her what she already knew, but the rage burning in the pits of her stomach was gone now. Exhaustion of the sort only felt after a long, hard cry had taken its place. Maybe this was worse, since the fury at least had kept her upright and going. Now, there was only emptiness. The kind that made her want to lie down on the spot and sleep. Given the new nightmares now haunting her, that was out the question. At least here and now.

Lenya huffed out, the sound loud in the stillness of night. Birds overhead let out a sharp, piercing call, warning their mates of predators in the dark. There was also the crackle of the two fireplaces, the calming pop and sizzle of wood burning within its flames. The tongue lolling out of his mouth, Revas panted and cocked his head at her. "Yeah, you are right. We should probably return to the others."

Slowly, she stood up, and groaned upon the ache found within her muscles. Rolling her shoulders did little to alleviate the pain, though helped her to focus. Her gaze fell on the abandoned skinning knife in the grass beside her. Lenya's breath hitched upon the remembrance of the events it entailed, the impulsiveness of her action not long ago. But she had warned him, hadn't she? It wasn't her fault if the human was not heeding her warnings, nor her boundaries. Sighing out, she reclaimed the knife from the ground and sheathed it. Still, perhaps this had been a step too far. The shock and hurt within his eyes right after she tried to - _ugh_, why was she even thinking about that? It was not like she owed him, or anyone within this camp, _anything_; her own survival aside, maybe. And obviously this was far more for her own benefit than for them. Because what good would she be dead to anyone? If she had such little to no choice in the first place, like the maiden in this creator-damned song of her people, she could at least _choose _to survive. This, she owned Tamlen... and her clan. Noticing her mood shift to something somber, her mabari bumped his head into her leg with a whine.

Lenya petted him, forced a smile."_ Ma serannas, lethallin_."

She had taken only a couple of steps toward the camp's center, as a large shadow within her vision solidified in the massive body of the qunari. No longer dressed in the simple prisoner clothes but his own qunari armor, he looked down to her. "I don't understand. You look like a woman."

Swallowing down an annoyed groan, she rolled her eyes at him. "Wow, figured that out all on your own, huh? You are as smart as you are large, apparently."

"Thank you," he deadpanned, rivaling her sarcasm with his own. "But you said you are a Grey Warden."

Lenya crossed her arms. "Yes?"

"So it follows that you can't be a woman."

"What?" she scoffed and made herself taller than she was. Derision was better and easier to conjure than giving into his circular halla-shit argument."Are you going to tell me next that women do not fight?"

"Exactly." Sten nodded. ""Women are priests, artisans, shopkeepers or farmers. They don't fight."

Lenya gulped in air and struggled to not give in to the sudden urge to punch him, instead of his face, into his more... reachable parts. "_ Nuva uralas telsyl na i'ga syl nyel laimem_," she muttered under her breath, bristling.

"You speak a tongue I don't understand."

"Yes, well, that is the fucking point of it, you genius!" She glared back up to him, and emphasized every of her pointed words with an equally pointed poke of his armored chest. "But let me make it clear, once and for all, so even you oversized _alas'bora _can understand it." Her heart thumped against its ribcage, creating a furious rhythm within her ears. _Hello rage, my old friend. " _I am a woman. And I fight. Easy as. If you cannot accept that, then I suggest that you take your giant ass and put it back into the cage in that shemlen village."

With that, Lenya slipped away from his massive form into the direction of her tent, not caring in the slightest for any inane reply his limited mind could cook up.

"Ah, you have returned," a lilting voice said behind Lenya's back. After the qunari question her ability due to being a woman, and everything else on this shitty, way too long day, she truly hadn't the patience to deal with that shemlen now. Her gaze settled on the tent nearby; so close but suddenly so unreachable. Why couldn't they all leave her alone for one fucking minute? Or preferably the rest of the night? "I'm glad," she added as Lenya didn't react.

Anger danced like lightening on her skin, reawakened by that creator-damned qunari and his idiocy. Her hands closed to fists and opened again in quick succession, fighting for control over her temper. When Lenya whirled around to glare at the human, she knew she had lost the battle once more. "How dare you?"

The red-headed shem blinked upon her sudden outburst, unsure to react. "This song," Lenya elaborated, not giving her the chance to recover from her surprise. "It is not yours to perform. Haven't you shemlen taken enough of my people already?"

"I..." the human tried, frowning. "... didn't mean to offend, Lenya."

"No, you humans never fucking mean to, but you do it anyway."

"I just thought you would like it, due to its origin," she said, sighing. "It must be hard being away from your people, no?"

"I didn't like it." Tears welled back into her eyes and she swallowed, thickly. Creators, she missed them, all of them. Even Hahren Paivel and his boring lectures. "It is _stupid_. A tale to scare small _da'len _from venturing from their clan. It is a warning about humans; about what happens when you trust them." She let out a scoff. "I bet you didn't know that, and took it for a romantic tale of love and loss. Well, it is fucking not!"

The shem calmly folded her hands in her lap and leaned forward to her. "You are right. I didn't know about that. But I never believed it to be a romantic tale, one of love. The hunter wasn't in love... he succumbed to lust. His greed, and pride made him believe that it was the tree making her reject him, that it was keeping her prisoner. In truth, the maid simply wanted to be left alone, which he was unable to see, nor respect. Thus the tragic end for her, alas." She tilted her head and smiled at the Dalish. "Thank you for telling me more about the song's meaning for your people. I will make sure to remember it."

Lenya wasn't sure what she had expected as a reply, but it wasn't _that. _Reasonable and kind, these words were irreconcilable with the picture she had of the human in her mind. But this was also the same human who'd inserted herself into their mismatching party because her shemlen god told her so in a vision. So, if anything, it was doubtful how much these words were actually worth. For now, Lenya settled for a shrug and a muttered "whatever" and ducked into her tent, leaving her sitting alone at the campfire.

.

.

* * *

.

Merinwood was an insignificant spot on the map, one Leliana didn't even know existed. A small farming village that lay much further west than Lothering did, to be exact. Which explained why its people would be spared from the soon approaching horde. For a time, at least. Being as small and hidden from the general public as the village was also meant that they weren't used to visitors. Thus each passing villager eyed the strange group and their steps with suspicion as they went their way.

"Why are we wasting our time here?" Sten groused, glaring down at the Dalish. "There is a Blight to fight."

"We are here for the missing supplies," Lenya countered, breaking her brooding silence for the first time today. "So unless you want to continue sleeping outside like you did in your cage, this trip is all but wasting time, _idiot _." With that she sped up her steps toward a large building in the village's center. Walking down an alley framed by askew houses build from mismatched wooden panels, Leliana peered over to the qunari. "What were you even doing in that cage, Sten?"

"Standing, as you observed," he stated, not missing a beat.

Leliana sighed out loud. Due to his stoic manner, he was hard to read for her, as were many of her other new companions for that matter. The only one who'd openly accepted her into this group had been Alistair and even he was uncharacteristically quiet today. Which had its roots in the events with Lenya yesterday, no doubt. She'd seen the sadness within his expression, right after he'd returned from speaking with his fellow Warden. Instead of sitting down with her, he'd vanished into his tent and did not return till much later to keep watch in her stead.

"Were you really in that cage for _twenty _days?" Alistair piped up, as if reading her thoughts of being too quiet.

"It might have been closer to thirty," Sten replied with a shrug. "I stopped counting after a while."

He frowned at the qunari. "And what did you do? I mean... twenty days is a long time to stand in one place and do nothing."

"On good days, I posed riddles to the passersby, offering them treasures in exchange for correct answers," he said and Leliana arched an eyebrow at the qunari for these words. Underneath all his no-nonsense attitude seemed to lie a subtle humor. _Interesting_.

The Warden let out a gasp, intrigued."Really?"

"No."

"Awww. Too bad. That's got serious potential." Alistair pouted, though it was short-lived since his attention shifted to the Dalish up in front of their group. "Alright... Lenya... do you want to visit the shop first or stop by the tavern first?"

Morrigan scoffed at him. "Can't you decide anything for yourself, fool?"

"Oh excuse me if I, unlike you, value the opinion of the people around me. One of them being my fellow Warden by the way," he shot back, his tone toward the witch far less friendly than with Lenya before.

"Word it as you want, but of the two of you that remain, _you _are the senior Grey Warden here. So I find it curious that you allow another to lead, while you follow." Her eyes narrowed to a glare. "In fact, you defer to a new recruit. Is this a policy of the Grey Wardens? Or simply a personal one?"

"What do you want to hear? That I prefer to follow?" He shrugged, not taking the bait laid out for him. "I do."

"Oh my, you sound so -"

"Get out and don't you dare return!" Morrigan's words were cut short by a man being thrown out on the tavern's doorsteps.

Leliana rushed forward to help him up, but he refused to take her hand. Instead he stood up himself and dusted his clothes off. "I'm okay. Thank you, my lady."

"What happened there?" she asked him, noting the man's grey hair and withered, pale face. The intricate embroidery of his clothes gave away that he wasn't without money.

"Ah, just my luck." He sighed. "After the damn mule ran away I was stuck here and asked for help, when even my elf I sent fetching it didn't return."

Lenya crossed her arms and glowered up to him. "Your... elf?"

"I meant I sent my _helper _. Tarren. Nice fellow, that... Tarren. Sadly he'd disappeared, like my mule. Not that he is..." He stopped and cleared his throat. "But I digress. Allow me to introduce myself instead: My name is Felix de Grosbois, merchant and entrepreneur. Nice to meet you... " He paused as he noticed the griffon emblazoned on Lenya's leather armor. "...Warden?"

"Yes?" she replied coolly.

"You may be able to help me, in this case."

She started tapping her foot. "Do I look like I'm here to help you, shem?"

The merchant flinched. "Maybe not, given with the rumors of a Blight going on and all that. But... maybe an exception. Just this once?"

Alistair stepped to her side. "What do you need?"

"Of all the bad luck I had on my trip, the worst is this artifact I bought in Jader." He reached toward his belt and at first glance what he brought forth looked like a weapon. "This is a control rod," he explained, weighting the small stick of gaudy fake gold in his hands. "For a golem. I got it from a longstanding contact, a dwarf who bought it from the golem's prior owner, or one of their relatives."

"A golem?" Lenya frowned, looking around into the faces of her companions. "What _is _a golem?"

"Tis a massive creature of stone, bound to the will of its owner," Morrigan replied. "As long you have the control rod, the golem is forced to do as you say."

"A massive creature of stone?" Lenya's stance relaxed, the curiosity blatant in her voice. "Really?"

"I couldn't have explained it any better, dearest, um, _mage. _" The man licked his lips, trembled a bit. "Well the problem is... the control rod didn't came with the golem, but I can mark its location on your map, if you'd like to, um, fetch it?"

"You want to give it to us?" Leliana eyed the gaudy rod in his hands. This offer seemed dubious, to say the least. "What do you want in return?"

"Me? Oh ho, nothing, really. I just don't want to have to lug around something that might be taken for a gemstone by some bandits, and they skewer me for it." The merchant sighed out. "Also I paid too much for it to simply throw it away."

"I see," Leliana said, relaxing a bit. "What is the catch?"

"The catch?" He blinked, but recovered quickly. "Yeah, I guess there is one, missing golem aside. The village where you will find it is overrun by darkspawn. But..." He gestured toward their griffon-winged armor. "... for you Grey Wardens this will be a minor problem, no?"

Lenya nodded. "Yeah, I think, we could do that."

"Really?" slipped out of Alistair's mouth and he earned himself a glare of the Dalish for that.

"Where is that village exactly, shem?"

The man's face lit up. "Like I said, I will gladly mark it on your map."

.

.

* * *

.

Honnleath was even further out into a north-western direction than initially expected. Hours had passed since their departure from Merinwood and the sun stood low on the horizon behind clouds when the village finally appeared in the distance. Smoke rose in thick billows from the faraway buildings and sputtered skywards, indicating the destruction done there by the darkspawn.

So... Morrigan..." Leliana looked over her shoulder to the witch glowering at her back. As a bard, she had learned to read people like open books, but Morrigan made it more difficult. Like Lenya, she kept to herself and only showed people of herself what she wanted them to see. In spite of that - or because - she had piqued Leliana's interest, if only to ascertain that her own secret was safe. "You are a witch of the wilds, no? I heard tales about you..."

"Is this really the time to start idle conversation? We are close to battle." She turned away with a huff.

Leliana sighed. "It is just... so eerily quiet, and had been for hours, so..."

"...so you feel the need to fill the silence with useless noise?"

"No, but we are traveling together, possibly for a very long time," she tried to explain. "Thus it would be good to get to know each other, no?"

"What..." Morrigan paused to brace herself on her wooden staff, since the path to the village begun to wind upwards. "...do you also expect us to hold hands and go skipping through fields of flowers as well?"

"No." She suppressed a groan bubbling up her throat. It was maddening with how little effort the witch was putting her into a defensive position. "Just normal talk, Morrigan. Like people do." Another sigh escaped her, masking little of the frustration felt inside. "For example, they say you are the daughter of Flemeth?"

"They also say that Orlais' minstrels are often spies employed by the empresses court," the witch shot back, not missing a beat. Leliana's steps hitched at that, which Morrigan bestowed with a knowing, sardonic smile as she quickened her own pace, passing her by. "I wonder if this is as true as what you are asking?"

"Not all minstrels are bards, or the other way around," she protested, her tone bearing too much defiance for her own taste. "People are often using both of these terms, thinking they mean the same. But they are different."

The witch gave her an once over. "This facade of yours is unconvincing."

"What does this -" Leliana gave up, refused to play her little game any , anything she would say would be in vain anyway. The witch had made up her mind and no argument would ever change it. Letting the rest of her words fade into a breath, she glanced at the wardens in front of her. Hopefully they hadn't heard what had been said. Seeing that they were simply marching ahead, silent as they had been for hours, she relaxed a bit again.

It was better if they thought her a simple chantry sister and minstrel traveling through the land with tales and songs. Easier for her too, for it provided her with the possibility to leave the past behind and instead live as this new self that brought her salvation from near-death and the things she'd done. She sped up her steps to be at one level with Morrigan, and tried anew. "Then do you know the stories about -"

"Of course." She scoffed. "You think my mother would let me go without telling me all the stories of her youth?"

Ah, so the rumors whispered in camp _were _true?

"My mother told me stories too." Leliana smiled. Finally something she could relate to with the witch. "She was the one who kindled my love of the old tales and legends." It was hard and unfair, having lost her mother so early in her life. Yet, she would have always have her mother's passion for stories and the remembrance of her humming an old good night song, as she tucked her in bed as a child.

"Oh how _nice _for you." Morrigan stared straight ahead into the distance. "Alas, _my _mother's stories curdled my blood and haunted my dreams." She fell silent for a bit, and her face scrunched up in a grimace. Her voice quavered as she spoke again, though had lost nothing of its ire. "No little girl wants to hear about the Wilder men her mother took to her bed, using them 'til they were spent, then killing them. No little girl wants to be told that this is also expected of her, once she comes of age."

Leliana blinked, taken aback by her sudden candidness. _I'm sorry _, she wanted to say, but only managed a perplexed "I... uh... I see."

"No, you don't. You really _don't _." The witch fixed her with an angry look. Her amber eyes, usually unsettling, were glistening with unshed tears. "Leave me be, bard."

This time, Leliana did not follow her as Morrigan marched ahead to get away from her.

.

.

* * *

.

"Help!" she only heard, then instinct took over. Quickly firing an arrow at a hurlock giving chase to two dwarves, it hit the darkspawn in the throat, throwing it backwards. The two smaller genlocks were quickly dispatched by Alistair's sword and shield, while Lenya had fallen back, behind him.

"These are stragglers," Sten stated, as he speared the downed hurlock with his greatsword. His gaze lingered, surveying the area. "Undoubtedly, there are more ahead."

"Yeah, I thi-" Alistair nodded, his words cut short by Lenya suddenly doubling over, groaning in pain. "Lenya..." Alarmed, he rushed to her side, his weapon and shield falling to the ground, forgotten. "What is wrong? Are you injured? I don't think I even left one of them pass me."

Perhaps she was interpreting too much into his gestures, but it were small moments like these where it became apparent how much he cared for his fellow Warden. Yes, Leliana was also worried about her well-being, of course. So were the rest of the companions, for that matter. Revas whined and nudged Lenya's leg and Morrigan observed the scene at some distance, her posture tense. However, unlike the others, Alistair had such a panicked edge in his voice, and unlike the others he let his gauntleted hand rest on the small of her back. Leliana frowned as she watched him fussing over his fellow Warden. It seemed as if he wasn't even aware of doing all that. Huh, now his outright dismissal of his attraction to Lenya in Lothering finally made sense to her.

"No..." Lenya managed at last, coughing as if suppressing to gag. "You didn't. But my head it feels like as if it is about to explode."

"'Tis the darkspawn," Morrigan stated. "Or rather your proximity to them."

"Oh..." Alistair breathed out and with the exhale, most of his panic dissipated as well. He stepped back, giving his fellow Warden room to breathe. "Right. You started to sense them, not long ago. I can understand how this is overwhelming. It was for me too, at first."

"...says the human screaming in my head," she scoffed, with her hands on her knees.

"I do?" His eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Huh."

"Yessss," Lenya hissed and took measured intakes of air before continuing speaking. "You are like these bugs buzzing around in summer at night when you are trying to sleep, but can't because they are too damn loud."

Morrigan pointed at him, her tone cool. "That is... an oddly accurate description of this idiot. Well done, Lenya."

"I'm a buzzing bug?" He cleared his throat to hide his amusement, albeit barely. "I must say this is the nicest thing you have said to me so far. I'm honored."

Lenya bestowed his comment with a groan and a roll of her eyes, which made him laugh out loud. Huh, they already had a certain dynamic, hadn't they? Alistair was able to lure the taciturn Dalish out of her shell with his very own brand of humor, however briefly. She was... more open around him. _Interesting_.

"I ensure you that I will attempt to scream quieter then, my lady." Inclining his head, he mock-bowed to his fellow Warden. "Besides," he added, letting the humor in his voice drop, "You will get used to it and then things should quiet down a lot, especially my buzzing in your head."

"And the splitting headache?" Standing upright again, Lenya grimaced and wobbled on her feet. "Is this always happening now whenever these bastards are near?"

"Short answer..."

"You are capable of that?" Morrigan interrupted with a sneer. "Wow."

"As I was saying..." Alistair gave the witch a sharp look that had nothing of the friendliness he showed Lenya or herself. "Once you get used to sensing darkspawn, it all should get much more subdued. Like a scratch at the back of her head. Give it time." He frowned. "No one knows how it is during a Blight, though. I guess... we have to wait and find out?"

"Thanks..." Lenya huffed. "I hate it."

He shrugged and reclaimed his weapon and shield from the ground. "That is what I'm here for: Witty one liners and being the bearer of bad news."

"Both are one and the same to me, really."

"Ouch." Alistair winced, albeit more in jest than real offense, since he was still smiling. "Meditation and working out helps a lot to drown out the buzzing and the nightmares, I have found."

"Grey Wardens?" a voice said behind Leliana's back. As she turned around to its source, she recognized it was the older dwarf they had saved only a couple of minutes ago. Weird that he was approaching them only now, though she hadn't been attentive to them either. "So far out in the west of Ferelden?"

"You are a long way from Orzammar yourself, dwarf," Morrigan replied, crossing her arms.

"Indeed, we are." The older dwarf nodded, stroking his brown, braided beard. "But we haven't been in Orzammar for many years, to be honest." Morrigan bestowed the reply with a scowl.

"Enchantment?" The other dwarf next to him pointed at the witch. His beardless face was round, almost childlike with its large blue eyes, staring at Morrigan in wonder.

"Ah, Sandal. Say hello to the nice mage lady."

"Hello." Sandal smiled at her, but her scowl only deepened.

"What were you both doing out here?" Leliana asked to end this weird impasse between dwarves and witch.

"Ah yes, right," the older man laughed out. "I forgot to introduce myself and to thank you for your unlikely but timely rescue." He inclined his head toward both Wardens. "My name is Bodahn Feddic, merchant and entrepreneur." He pointed next to him. "And this is my son Sandal."

"Hello," the young dwarf said again, still smiling.

"Another merchant?" Alistair frowned, stepping closer to the pair. "Out here?"

Bodahn opened his mouth to answer but he was stopped by Lenya speaking before he could. "You are a dwarf," she stated, her tone oddly bright after having just doubled over in pain. "I have never seen a_durgen'len." _She tilted her head, looking at them. "You are really tiny."

Alistair let out a small groan, though the twitch of the corner of his mouth belied his annoyance.

"Yes, my lady." Bodahn laughed, not at all offended by her statement. "And you must be Dalish in addition to being a Warden. I hadn't the pleasure yet to trade with your people, this is true." He glanced up to Alistair and cleared his throat. "Anyhow, I still owe you a reply for the reason of being here."

"Yes," Morrigan said before Alistair could.

"It was an unplanned detour, to be honest." Bodahn shrugged. "After leaving Lothering, we made a stop in Merinwood, where my son and I heard about the golem out here."

"You can't have the golem," Lenya said, less friendly now.

"Ah, no." He shook his head. "We were rather interested in the things people left behind after fleeing the darkspawn there. Alas, this part of the plan was not thought through, as the horde were still in the village."

Leliana fixed the dwarves with a glare. "You are scavengers, picking off the belongings from the dead."

"No, this is not all we do," Bodahn argued. "Our trade is an honest business."

"Honest?" she bristled, her voice rising. "Honest, _how _exactly? You steal from people!"

"Finders, keepers, shem." Lenya snapped, turning to glare at her. Then her stance loosened with a shrug. "Besides how is it different from when we are looting bodies?"

"You... do that?" Leliana gasped. Weren't the Grey Wardens better than this? Her eyes flung to Alistair for conformation or support, but he remained silent.

"If they are not darkspawn, why not?" The Dalish rolled her eyes. "The bandits had good money that we needed for supplies."

"It is a matter of respect for the dead!"

"Spare us your moralistic preaching, _sister," _Morrigan spat out the word like an insult. "Tis inane to let perfectly good resources rot along with the bodies."

The qunari nodded. "I agree with the mage."

She gave him a brief smile. "Oh, 'tis most surprising to hear this from you, dear Sten."

"I also agree that your tongue should be cut out, as it is customary for mages in my lands." With that, he walked away, toward the village.

Stifling a laugh at that, Alistair cleared his throat. "Not saying I'm comfortable doing so, but we aren't exactly traveling in the lap of luxury here. With no support from, well, _anybody _, we need everything we can get."

Lenya's head turned to him, surprised. "That is an... unexpectedly sensible approach."

"I have my moments." He chuckled, his voice dipping so low that it almost sounded like flirting. "However, don't expect me to rifling through graves any time soon, my lady."

"Ugh." Grimacing upon the name, she set out to follow Sten into the village. Leliana watched the Dalish leaving, torn between admiring and abhorring her nonchalance and disrespect shown for the subject matter. Deep down, there was an awareness blooming that this practical approach was needed, should they want to survive. Yet this was exactly what her old self would have done, without hesitation. She didn't want to be like this anymore, was better than -

"Well this settles then, I guess." Shaken out of her thoughts, Leliana rose her gaze just in time again to see how Alistair gave both dwarves and her an apologetic shrug. "Time to kill some darkspawn and find that golem. Not that I want to..." he added in a mutter.

"Wait..." Bodahn called after him, making him stop. "When we were fleeing from the darkspawn, I had to leave my wagon of wares behind. The trip already had been one disaster after the other, but losing my wagon would be devastating for us."

"Ah, so you want us to retrieve it?"

"I'm aware I have no right to ask after you already saved the life of my son and I, but - "

Another shrug of him. "Sure, we might as well. Two birds with one stone, huh?"

The dwarf let out a relieved sigh. "Thank you, kind Warden ser. We will be, um, waiting here for you then, until the air is clear."

Alistair's gaze shifted to her. "Are you coming, Leliana?"

She blinked away whatever of the unwanted memories lingered and readied her bow for the impending battle. "Y-yes, let's go."

.

.


	11. Exit Wounds

**_A/N: _**_This chapter had been originally written and published on Ao3 in October 2018. If you want to see the up-to-date version of this story, come find me on Ao3 under the same nickname (Merilsell) and story name (Of Elves And Humans: Redux). Enjoy?_

_._

* * *

_._

**_Chapter 11: Exit Wounds_**

_._

Approximately zero point five seconds after setting foot into the mages' lab, Lenya regretted agreeing to save the brat playing hide and seek here.

It would be easier, _better_ to simply turn back and and beat the correct activation word for the golem out of the stupid shem blackmailing her.Despite this, she moved forward and shielded her nose from the coiling stench assaulting her, bringing back unwanted memories. Rotten flesh mingled with musty mildew that clang the stone walls like vines. Water dripped down from the mucid, low-hanging ceiling near everywhere and pooled in foul smelling puddles, which Lenya eyed with disdain.

The ruins, back then, together with _him _had a similar lingering stench of decay and -

A bloodcurdling scream reverberating at the stone walls and deep in her bones halted all thoughts. "W-what was that?"

Morrigan let out a groan, the knuckles around her staff turning white. "Fantastic, there are shades present. I _knew _something was amiss with how the Fade feels here."

"Yeah, I don't like it either," Alistair said, shuddering. Right, the human had been trained as a templar and thus was capable of picking up on these subtle changes in atmosphere. The shift here was of the heavy kind, cloying Lenya's mind. Morrigan's reaction was all but reassuring either.

"What is a Shade?"

Morrigan turned around to her. "Tis not certain, so far. They are either the true form of demons when they appear outside of the Fade without a host, or the souls of the dead who have come back from the Fade into the mortal world."

"Great, I just _had_ to ask..." Lenya muttered, each intake of foul air bringing her back to what was best forgotten. _Tamlen_. The ruins. Her heart hammered furiously against her ribcage and she staggered over her own feet, barely finding purchase against the clammy stone wall. Lenya gritted her teeth against the panic rising in tides and screwed her eyes shut. No, this was not happening. Not here, not now. Not _ever_.

"This is why women shouldn't fight," she heard Sten grumble, as distant as if her head was underwater. The room spinning around her made it impossible to react to Revas pawing at her, whining.

"Shut up, Sten!" her fellow Warden snapped, also so very distant. Then there was a hand on her shoulder, leading her away from the stench and the creatures lurking within. "Breathe," he said, so quiet it was nearly lost to the staccato of her heartbeat in her ears. Her throat was too tight, her breaths too shallow and small. "Just breathe, but focus on my voice, not your breathing. Can you do that, Lenya?"

_Yes_, she wanted to say, but managed only a whimper. She let herself be led further by his hand, until there was light breaking through the crack of a door and the stench had lessened to a more bearable degree. They stopped right outside of it, Revas in tow, still whining. "Okay, calm yourself," he said, a laughter in his voice. "I will talk now until you are well enough again to tell me to shut up. I know you want to, Lenya."

She opened her eyes in an attempt of a glare, but everything around her was still spinning way too fast. Instead, she stumbled into the wall opposite, only not falling down because her fellow Warden caught her in time and steadied her again. "Woah, easy there. Just keep standing on the spot and _breathe_." Alistair paused as if thinking about what to tell her. Revas sat down next to her, licking her gloved hand. "Oh I know... What do you call a wardog that is no longer there?"

_Jokes? Really? _Lenya let out another whimper. The cellar seemed preferable to _that_. She shrugged, signaling him that she was listening. Not that she had any choice, really.

"A _was_dog."

She let her head sink against the wall, its stone rough and cool underneath her forehead. True to his promise, he didn't stop talking. Alas. "What do you call a man with no body and no nose?" He paused for effect, but she heard it in his voice that he was eager to deliver the punchline. "Nobody nose."

Maybe she should just bash her head against said wall to end this torture imposed upon her. But while her throat was still too tight, it got a bit easier to breathe, now. His terrible, _terrible _method of distraction was actually... working. _Creators_.

"A mabari walks in a tavern. The bartender asks: "What will it be?" The mabari says nothing, because, hey, it_is _a mabari and cannot speak."

_Oh, Mythal's tits, have mercy, please. _Lenya managed a groan, while Revas huffed at him. He didn't seem to like Alistair's bad jokes either. "Lenya, did you hear of the guy whose left side got cut off?"

"No..." She forced the word out with the intent to stop him, but he only saw it as confirmation to continue.

"Oh, don't worry about him, he is _all right _now."

Her head, no longer spinning, turned to him. "Oh, shut up!"

"See," he drawled, chuckling. "That wasn't so hard, wasn't it?"

"That was... excruciating." She gasped for air and her heart did still beat at a hasty pace. However, she was no longer rooted within that place, nor the memories. His unusual approach truly... helped. Ugh, still. "Never... do this again."

He flashed her a smile, all too smug. "Right. But it did help, didn't it?" Lenya sighed, but the corner of her mouth twitched upwards. Alistair ducked his head, to look her in the eyes. "Do you want to talk about what caused your panic attack?"

She turned away, moved toward the door. It was none of his business. "No, I don't."

"Okay." That easy acceptance of her refusal was unexpected, too. He opened the old wooden door and motioned her to come. "Back into the stinky lab and the creatures within then, right? Let's hope we quickly find the girl."

.

.

* * *

.

_Quickly_ had been too optimistic a word to find that brat, as they had to trudge far deeper into Wilhelm's lab than hoped. Along the way, they ran into creatures of the Beyond - Shades, as Morrigan called them. Their bodies were like bulbous, deformed snakes, with long, sharp claws at each twisted hand and a demonic grin on their lip-less mouths. Lenya had heard stories of nightmarish creatures lurking in the shadows, waiting to possess an unsuspecting mage, told as a scare at the campfire in the dark. But knowing their name and form by being confronted with them and their ear-piercing screams was far worse than any tale. Thankfully, like any creature made real, they could be killed, or at least sent back to the Beyond for a time.

Now their trek down the winding corridors had led them into a spacious room with a domed ceiling. Faint daylight filtered through its cracked, colored glass, splaying in red and green dots against the dark ground. The air here was different, less musty but thick with ambient magic. It was hard to breathe and once more she did not want to move forward.

"Oh look! Someone's come to play!" a bright voice said, belonging to a blonde girl with pigtails. This had to be the damn kid they were supposed to find! Lenya was about to storm forward when she noticed the _other _creature resting at the girl's feet.

Wide-eyed, she rushed back, hiding behind Alistair's broad back. "C-cat," she managed, irrational fear gripping her heart.

"What...?" Alistair looked over his shoulder to her cowering form, confused. "What is this about?"

"You have come to play, haven't you?" the girl asked the group, oblivious to Lenya's distress.

"You are Amalia, right?" Alistair asked, letting out a small groan. "Please tell me there isn't some _other _little lost girl around here."

"That is my name," the girl replied, laughing. "And we're playing a guessing game."

"Right... and who is 'we', exactly?"

"Kitty and me, of course! You don't see anyone else here, do you?"

"Shoo, shoo!" Alas Lenya's attempts to drive the fluffy beast off from behind Alistair's back remained futile. She gave his back a small shove. "Make it go away, human."

"Wait... you are _not_ joking?" Eyebrows drawn together, he gasped out a breath that suspiciously sounded like a laugh. She was going to kill him... _later_. "You are actually afraid of a _cat _?"

"Kitty is my friend and very clever," the girl beamed. "She says you'll want to take me back to my father, but I'm not going. She would be lonely!"

Ugh, she should wipe that stupid grin out of in his stupid human face. "It is just a cat, Lenya!"

"No, it is a fluffy, evil thing," she argued with the indignation of a five years old. Damn, she sounded way too whiny. His hackles raised and fangs bared, Revas growled at the animal. Good. At least her dog believed her.

"I would not suggest leaving in such hostile company anyway, Amalia. Look how vicious they are," said a female voice with an otherworldly, demonic echo to it, coming from the cat's muzzle. "Look how they act."

"The cat... _talks_?" the chantry shem uttered, shock coloring her voice.

Morrigan scoffed at her, readying her staff. "Tis a demon, you chantry nitwit, no cat!"

"A demon..." Lenya laughed out loud, her stance relaxing as these words sank in. "Not a cat."

Alistair raised an eyebrow at her. "Oh suuure, this is so much better indeed." He turned toward the girl. "Amalia, you better step away from this... creature."

"Nothing you say will convince Amalia to go with you," the demon-not-cat smugly chimed in, stretching its ugly cat-like limbs. "She loves only me now. I am her friend, while you are just a stranger."

Revas growled again, his bark sharp at the creature. Lenya used the distraction to step forward, away from the protection of her fellow Warden's back. "This is stupid." Keeping her eyes trained on the girl instead of the non-cat still unfortunately looking like one, she hurried forward. "We need the girl. I'm not leaving without her."

"N-no! I don't wanna leeeeeaaaaveee!" Amalia cried out, struggling against Lenya's grip on her hand with all her might. "Kitty! Help!" Disregarding the girl's fierce protest, she pulled her toward the steps.

She just had to reach the exit with her. The wards should hinder the demon from leaving the room. Once she was on top of the stairs, Lenya pushed the girl into the chantry shem's arms. "Leave!" The human understood immediately, seized the kicking and screaming kid and rushed through the threshold of the door. After they passed, the magical barrier shimmered briefly before dissipating into invisibility again.

"Noooooo!" the demon roared in anger at the loss, sounding more like its true abhorrent self now. "What have you done?" Bright light flashed within the room as the entity shifted and grew, blinding Lenya to its impending attack. Someone pushed her to the side, and losing her purchase, Lenya tumbled down the few flight of stairs. She hit the ground hard with her back, robbing her of all air. Claws scratched against metal, meeting and ripping flesh. Struggling against her vision blurring, she heard Alistair cried out, pained.

_Oh no..._

She had to get up again, fast. Ignoring the wave of dizziness swarming her, Lenya rolled to the side. Snarling, Revas put his massive body as a barrier between her and now full-sized demon, and jumped at it. Sinking his fangs into the mid-rift of the all-too female body, the demon stumbled back, giving Lenya enough time to evade and get back up. Howling in agony, the demon summoned a spell, which threw Revas skittering across the room.

_No._

"Get down!" Morrigan yelled and Lenya obeyed, ducking. A bolt of ice shot overhead, almost grazing her as it engulfed the lunging demon. Then the witch snapped her finger and the frozen creature splintered in bloody pieces, like brittle glass.

"A desire demon, of all things," she groaned, gasping for air. "That brat better be worth it, Lenya."

"Revas!" Jumping back up, Lenya ran to the other side of the room, where her mabari still lay. Seeing her approaching, he heaved up his head and wagged his stumpy tail. "Are you hurt, _da'fen _?" His tawny fur was coated in blood and it was unsure how much of it was his own. She checked his body for injuries, and to her relief found no external ones. Reaching into her belt bag, Lenya fed Revas a bit of elfroot paste, to ease any possible pain and bruises he could have.

"_Of course_ she would choose the dog over me, " Alistair muttered from across the room.

"Who wouldn't?" Morrigan quipped, before a huff followed. "False twinge of heroism, I see?"

"Nothing false about saving my fellow Warden from being skewered in the head, witch." He groaned out, and as Lenya turned to him, he was clutching his right shoulder. Blood spilled from the wound there and trickled down the steel of his Warden armor.

Creators, it had been him pushing her out of the way! He took a blow destined for her. "Are-"

"Alistair!" The chantry shem's outcry swallowed up any words upon Lenya's lips. The shem rushed to his side, fussing over him. "You are hurt! Is it bad? Let me see."

"Oh, it is just all peachy, Leliana." He grimaced as the human probed his shoulder. "Would be even _peachier_if you have some elfroot salve and a bandage to stop the bleeding, at least. We can properly stitch it up later, in camp." She nodded and started to cautiously remove his pauldron, for better access to the wound.

"I'm so sorry!" The girl, now calm again, stared wide-eyed at her fellow Warden. Sniffing, she burst into tears. "I didn't want that to happen!"

"Great, now I made _her_ cry." Alistair sighed. "Seems to be the usual effect I have on people."

"We better get the brat out of here," Morrigan said, motioned Lenya to come over. "Tis about time her father pays up for her rescue."

"Where is my da'?" Glancing up to the witch through tearful blue eyes, Amalia received no answer.

"He is waiting outside of the cellar," Lenya replied in her stead. "Now go, _da'len _, or I make you!" With Revas in tow, she passed Alistair without a glance.

.

.

* * *

.

"Daddy!" Upon leaving the building, Amalia threw herself into the shemlen's arms with a giggle. He caught her and whirled her around, laughing along with her. "I'm sorry I ran away, Daddy. I was so scared."

A disgusted noise emerged from Morrigan's direction, while Sten simply watched on, stone-faced as ever. Lenya should be glad to have saved the human child, shouldn't she? But all that was lingering inside was a pang of annoyance of having to witness this sappy scene of reunion. Similar to the witch, and yet... different in a way she was incapable to grasp. It wasn't entirely fair either, as the girl, while reckless, was innocent and didn't deserve to end up as a host for a demon, or worse, to perish. Why then, was all this regret nagging at her?

"It is okay, my butterfly. You are safe now." The shem put her down and turned toward her, grinning over both ears. " Maker, you have found Amalia. I cannot thank you enough."

Crossing her arms, Lenya let her annoyance run free rather to mask it. This human had cost her way too much time and detours already, which, _was _part of her irritation flaring up. No matter the happy outcome, this shem had forced her into finding his daughter. "You can start by telling me the correct phrase to activate the golem over there."

He sighed, handing her a piece of paper. "I wrote it down here for you, Warden. A promise is a promise, even if I would prefer to never see Shale active again." The shem glanced down to his daughter, then back at her, hesitating. "Some of my father's spells laid rune lines around the village that _could _be reactivated. He used to say they would stop anything short of a giant. You would be safe to stay the night before setting out again, and are most welcome to do so."

Lenya peered around in the village. Some buildings were still on fire and the whole area clouded in thick smoke that bit in her nose. Bloodied corpses of darkspawn and villagers alike were strewn about just about everywhere on the ground. She scoffed. "I don't think so."

"Suit yourself." He shrugged. "If there isn't anything else..."

"Yes, if the phrase doesn't work," she said, each word a threat. "You have got a problem."

"It _will _work." The shemlen nodded, holding her stare. "I simply prefer not to be around to see the golem activated." He took his daughter's hand. "Come, Amalia, we should go. Tomorrow we are going to leave for Redcliffe."

"Goodbye, grumpy elf lady." The kid waved to her in a brightly fashion, trailing behind her father trying to drag her away. "Thank you for saving me."

.

.

* * *

.

"Urgh, I knew the day would come when _someone_ would find that control rod!"

The re-awoken golem was... not what Lenya expected, mildly put. White glowing slits were forming its eyes and it used them to stare down at her. "Huh, and not even a mage this time! Probably stumbled upon the rod by accident… _typical _!"

The cynical, blunt voice that emanated from the orifice carved in the golem's face serving as a mouth was booming and echoed into all corner of the village. Staring back up to the golem, Lenya stemmed her hands into her sides, to make herself broader and to feel less like an ant about to be squashed. "Well, hello to you too," she replied in the same sarcastic tone.

"Hah, the Painted Elf has nerves and confidence, I see. Other squishy things would have already trembled and cowered in fear." The golem's head creaked as it tilted it to the side. "I'm uncertain if It is brave or simply foolish."

"A bit of the former and much of the latter," Sten muttered, shaking his head.

"You are... oddly grouchy for a creature carved from stone," Lenya stated, ignoring the Qunari's comment.

"Pah." It scoffed. "It would be too, if It stood here and watched those pathetic villagers scurry about for over thirty years."

"Then both of you will get along just fine," Alistair quipped, his nonchalant words betrayed by the way he snapped for air in between. Lenya glanced over the shoulder to him. His forehead was sweaty and the normally warm brown color of his skin carried an ashen hue. He was, by all definition, not well, and it... was _her_ fault.

"And then there was the darkspawn attack," the golem continued grousing, oblivious to her fellow Warden's distress. Or more likely, not caring. "I never thought I'd see anything more boring than the villagers, but there it was."

"You watched the attack happen?" The chantry shem asked, taking a step forward.

"Not as much as one might think; there was shouting and screaming and running about, and then days and days of watching the darkspawn prowl about. Dreadfully _dull_." It paused for a moment, as if thinking. "Sooo, are the villagers all dead?"

"Not all, no." The shemlen shook her head.

"Some got away, then? Very disappointing."

Alistair frowned. "You _really _don't like the people here, do you?"

"It likes stating the obvious, doesn't It?" The golem gave him something akin to a glare. "Then let me be very obvious too, for Its sake: I'd have happily torn down their houses and stomped them all to paste. After thirty years of standing about in this village, I'd have done it twice."

"Fair enough, I guess?" he added, though the golem was far from done with complaining.

"What I didn't like was being ordered to do it. 'Golem, bring that chair over here.' 'Do be a good golem and squash that insipid bandit,' and let's not forget 'Golem, pick me up. I tire of walking!' Bah!" After finishing its rant, the golem's gaze shifted to herself again and the object in her hands. "I see the control rod and yet... Go on. What is its command?"

"A command?" Lenya looked down to the useless bauble in her hands. Oh, right. It had an actual purpose, after all. "Hmm... let's see. " She paused to deliberate. "Go attack Alistair!"

"Hey, _already _wounded party here," he whined. "Not fair!"

"Hmm, nothing." The golem cocked its stony head. "I feel no need to follow Its order."

"You appear to possess free will then."

It shifted to glower down at Morrigan. "Great, there _is_ a mage, after all."

"Tis a good thing, I was about to say," she added, her eyes narrowing at the creature. "Now... I am not as certain anymore."

"A mage with a smart mouth, even," The golem snorted. "I thought they were normally squished while still in their larval stage."

"Oh..." Lenya said." ...like you did with your former master?"

"Ah yes. I remember I _had _a former master. The mage with the furry brows who poked and prodded and barked orders." The golem laughed out loud. "I think his last order was 'Golem! Stop crushing my head! Ha."

Well, this didn't bode well. Maybe awakening the creature had been a mistake after all. "How will I be able to trust you then not doing the same with me?"

"I don't know," it replied. "How does the Painted Elf trust other people without a control rod?"

"Easy." She peered into the round, and her fellow Warden winced a little, when she uttered these two words: "_It _doesn't."

"Fair enough. I will promise to not sit on It, at least. Unless the Painted Elf annoys me or start barking inane orders like the mage." The golem stopped its words. "What is it that It does, anyhow? It must have awoken me for a reason."

"Killing darkspawn and other things, mostly." Lenya shrugged. "Could use your help in that."

"Darkspawn, the very creatures that destroyed this village. Is it a Grey Warden, then?" She nodded, stopped short of rolling her eyes. No matter what she wanted, this was now what all creatures - stone or not- were now recognizing her as. "The darkspawn are an evil that must be destroyed, it's true, though not as evil as the birds... damnable feathered fiends!" the golem groused, white gleaming eyes squinting in disgust.

"Birds, really?" Okay, with her irrational fear of cats, Lenya wasn't exactly in the position to judge the creature.

"Indeed. I have an extremely justified rage of the flying vermin that plague this world. I am called Shale, by the way," the golem added as an afterthought.

"I'm Lenya Mahariel, but I guess you won't call me that, huh?"

"It does possess some resemblance of intelligence after all. Congratulation."

"Shale?" Alistair chuckled and swayed on his feet, unsteady. "Is this your name.. or what you are made of?"

"The Warden Clown thinks It is funny, I see. Would It prefer I was called Flint? Pebbles? How about Rubble?" Shale sneered, giving her fellow Warden an once over. "It looks broken. If It falls down, I won't carry It."

"I'll manage, thanks," he scoffed, clutching his injured shoulder. "Besides, I will be already satisfied when you are not stomping on me."

"Depending on the rate of Its jokes and their abysmal quality, _that _remains to be seen." With that, the golem moved with heavy steps toward the village's exist, not waiting, nor caring if the others would follow.

"Death to all pigeons!" rang as cry from the golem in some distance, before a panicked flock of birds was maimed into a bloody paste.

As if making certain the creature was out of earshot, so to speak, Alistair waited to voice his concern. "Are you _suuuuure_ it is a good idea to take that cynical, murderous rock with us?"

Seeing how unpredictable the golem was, Lenya really, _really _wasn't. But she could hardly tell him that, not after everything that - She shook the thought away and trained her expression into neutrality. "Just think of it as a portable battering ram."

"Right. Better it than me, honestly. I had my share with it already." He gave her a pointed look. "Was not fun." For a split moment when their eyes met, the two words 'I'm sorry' were on the tip of her tongue, though they weighted too much to actually set them free.

"Let's go," she said instead and turned, cursing her own pride and his ability to make her question it.

.

.

* * *

.

They made camp not far from the village, at the foot of the grassy hilltops surrounding it. With the darkspawn horde gone and dealt with, the remote location of Honnleath turned out to be a blessing. Out here, no one would be bothering them and perhaps even a good, long rest after this exhausting day would be possible. Given the darkspawn haunting her dreams, Lenya wasn't counting on it, however.

After a long hour of setting up camp to an acceptable degree with the others, she sat cross-legged on her spread-out bedroll underneath an overcast, darkened sky. The kit of metal oil and rags placed beside her, Lenya started to clean the crusted blood off her blades. Not only was maintenance of her weapons needed to keep them in usable shape, the repeated wiping and polishing motion also was... relaxing. The single-minded focus of it helped to forget everything around her, even if it was just for a few moments.

Revas lay near motionless at the other end of her bedroll and whined in his sleep. Frowning at the sound, Lenya stopped briefly to reach out to him. Blood and dirt were still clotting his coarse fur and his paws twitched as he exhaled. Was he in discomfort? Did she overlook internal injuries? Her head snapped up, searching for Morrigan in the half dark. She found her wandering at the camp's perimeters close by, almost like the golem - _Shale _\- did.

"Morrigan..."

The witch made a displeased sound upon hearing her name; subtle yet loud for her elvhen ears. As she turned around to the source of the sound, Lenya saw her holding oval stones within both of her hands; protective runes, no doubt. Despite her bluster and general standoffish nature, the witch always took greatest care in securing their camp's boundaries before settling down herself.

"What do you wish of me?" Each of her words were leaden with the wish of being left alone and the underlying threat of what would happen to those not heeding it.

"I was wondering if you still have some of these magical enhanced potions?"

"I will not waste them on Alistair," she bristled, not missing a beat.

"No," Lenya hurried to explain. "I need one for Revas. He seems to be in pain."

"Oh..." she left the word hanging, instead closed the physical distance. Just for a second her pale yellow eyes flicked over to were the mabari lay, before seizing her again. "I see. I will look for a vial in my satchel, once I have completed my current task."

"Thank you." Lenya nodded and scowled right after uttering these words. Not at Morrigan, no, but at herself. Why was the act to say it to Morrigan so easy, whereas with her fellow Warden she couldn't even -

A pained hiss behind her halted her thoughts. She turned around, seeing the redhead helping Alistair to remove his upper armor and protective clothes underneath. He flinched whenever the fabric touched the makeshift-bandaged wound, his motions cumbersome. To her feet, the shem had placed a sewing kit, clean rags and a bowl with steaming water. The telltale sweet smell of elfroot wafted from it into her direction. Before Lenya even was aware of what she was doing, she was already on her feet and addressing the humans behind her.

"L-let me."

Both of them simply stared at her, making her feel as stupid like she probably was. With her stomach in knots, she closed the little distance between them.

"I will... tend to the campfire, then, yes?" Ugh, she hated the laughter within the shem's voice and even more how she made a show of backing away. Lenya pointedly ignored her, didn't want to see the amusement within her expression.

Alistair shifted from one foot to the other, glanced about everywhere that was not her face. His healthy shoulder bunched in an attempt to make himself smaller, less visible, maybe. Crossing his naked chest with one arm, he dug the fingernails of his hand into the palm of his other and winced as the self-inflicted tension turned into pain. He exhaled audibly, shifted again. "You... don't have to do this."

Lenya rolled her eyes at his antics. "Don't be such a _da'len_." She glanced up to his injured shoulder, close to her head. The cotton bandage there was already seeped through, turned crimson with his blood. The wound needed to be stitched. She removed her leather gloves and threw them on the ground next to them. "Wait here. I need to clean my hands first. Better yet, sit. Or else I can't -" she bit her lip, swallowing up her frustration about his impossible height. Resigned to his fate, Alistair only nodded.

Turning around to fetch the piece of soap and her water skin from her satchel, Lenya nearly toppled over Morrigan. The witch was kneeling over Revas and feeding him half a vial of a healing potion. "Watch your steps, Warden," she groused, without looking at her.

Lenya snorted. "Well, last time I checked this is _my _bedroll you are kneeling on."

"Rather that of these two dwarves now lingering in our camp like parasites."

"Eh, details, details." She shrugged. "Besides, Bodahn offered us a fair discount for his wares, if being allowed to stay here with his son. I don't mind the _durgen'len_, as long they keep to themselves."

"Like you don't mind the bedroll's prior, probably dead owner?"

"Creators, now you sound like the _other_ shemlen," she said, biting down an annoyed groan. "We had no chance to shop in that shem village due to chasing after Shale, so this is the next best thing." Taking her water flask, she rinsed her hands with water first, then with the small piece of soap. "The dwarf had much we needed, and lot of it was free of charge or reduced in price for their rescue. My clan -" Lenya froze on the spot, ice filling her veins before the ache of its chill reached her heart. "Never mind," she muttered, dropping soap and water skin on the spot, in favor of running from the meaning of these words.

She found Alistair in an awkward half-kneeling, half sitting position. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, why wouldn't I?" she snapped, evading his questioning gaze.

"Well, your hands... are still soapy."

"Oh." Taking a clean rag from the ground, she busied herself with wiping off the lather. After this was done, she gave each trembling finger and nail an extra scrub, if only to have something for her mind to focus on.

He pointed over at Morrigan. "Did the evil witch -"

"She did nothing, okay?" Lenya made the mistake to meet his eyes. She shirked from his gaze right after, and blinked several times to get rid of these damn tears lingering there. But the damage was already done; he _knew_. "Just...memories," she quietly admitted after a while, to the surprise of herself.

"I see." Tilting his head with a hum, he inhaled to speak further.

"No, I don't wanna talk about it," she added before he could do so.

"Okay."

Much to Lenya's relief, he wasn't pushing any further. Which was surprising, given how nosy this human was. He remained silent after that... which was better this way. She could focus on the here and now and her task, instead to grief for things lost. No one would be helped with her giving in to it, to missing them.

"You have done this before," Alistair remarked, disturbing the lingering stillness between them another moment later. Of course he would. She did not reply. She needed to concentrate on pushing the needle and thread through the edges of the long, curved claw mark across his shoulder blade. He winced each time the needle was inserted and exited his skin, which was a lot. The washed away blood and dirt left the wound angry red and gaping, though thankfully was not bone-deep. With the stitches and given enough time, it would heal quite nicely.

"Obviously..." Lenya paused to throw a look down at the human. He was sitting fully on the ground now, while she had remained standing at his right side. Still, even in a more relaxed sitting position, that human was hulking and tall. Without meaning to, he took up a lot of space next to her. "Or else I wouldn't have offered."

"Hmm," he hummed again and an irritating smile bloomed upon his lips. "No other reason, then?"

After finishing the last stitch within his skin, she cut off the excess twine from the needle with her small knife; maybe more harshly than truly needed. "Oh, sorry." she quipped, being not sorry at all.

"No, you are not..."

"Yes, I am..." She cleaned her hands with the remaining water. "You pushed me down, out of harm's way." This time, Alistair had no smart-mouthed comment. Instead he only looked up at her, as if waiting for her to elaborate. So she did. "Why?" she asked, her voice near a whisper. °Why did you do this?"

"Weeeell," he drawled, in certainly the most _punchable _tone possible for humans. "If you have to ask why I saved -"

"Are you always _that _annoying with replying to simple questions?" she snapped. "Ugh, if you don't want to tell -"

"Because we are Grey Wardens," he hurried to say, meeting her challenging gaze openly. All humor and pretense were gone from his voice, to the point where he almost sounded... _raw_. "We are the only ones left. There is... no one else." He released a breath that came out as a shaky sigh. "So... we have to take care of each other, right?"

Her hand bunched in the cotton of the fresh bandage she had yet to apply, any words caught within a tight throat. The way he spoke... it was too familiar for comfort, opened up wounds she kept hidden and close. _Damn it._ Lenya swallowed and blinked, while wrapping the cloth around his shoulder and arm to secure it in place. His built was fitting for a frontline warrior, yet so different to the male hunters she had helped bandaging before. Again, the thought seized her heart with its wistfulness, of things lost. "Will it get better?"

"I will be fine in a few days, don't worry. We Wardens heal fast-" Alistair's mouth clicked shut as he finally grasped the intention of her words. "Oh. Um, I'm not sure? I, err -" Sighing, he drove an erratic hand through his already tousled sandy-blond hair. "I hope so." He seemed to blink faster now, his eyes straying away, into the distance. " But it is... hard."

"Yeah." This, they had in common; this strange human and her. She could acknowledge that, but anything beyond? No, rather not. Because so much about him was able to set her off, even without trying. He was an irritating shem; boisterous and his bad jokes were just, well, so terribly awkward and _bad_, and she wanted nothing but to be far away from him. If not for Ostagar, she would have never spared a glance at him in the first place. And yet in Honnleath he shoved her out of the way, didn't hesitate a second to take the blow destined for her. So much about him was -

"Thank you for patching me up," Alistair said, taking her brooding silence for a sign of disinterest in further conversation. "I really appreciate your help, Lenya." He reached down to his satchel and hissed out in pain upon the too fast motion.

"You have got to keep your shoulder still, idiot!" She yanked the small bag out of his hands. "The elfroot salve should kick in soon and numbing the pain."

"That is... good to know. Can I get my bag back, please? Since, you know, I feel terribly underdressed right now." He pointed at the full set of armor she still wore. "Especially in comparison to you."

"Ugh," Lenya grimaced and nearly threw the bag into his lap. Maybe she should forget about it, and leave. Her skin itched in places she couldn't scratch and -

"There is a small stream outside of camp, in case you want to clean more than your hands," he noted by the way. "This is where Leliana got the water from you used just now, only in, um, cold form."

"Obviously."

Holding the bag awkwardly in between his knees, he struggled to untie the knot with one hand. Creators, he was helpless like a small da'len with this injury. "Give it to me!" She reclaimed the satchel once more. Opening it up, she managed to pull out a large linen shirt upon first try. Thank the gods it was directly in reach! Not to think about if she had to search any longer for it, ugh.

"Ah." Alistair made a small noise akin to a whimper and his brown cheeks adapted a faint pink. "I can dress on my own, thank you. You don't have to -"

Disregarding his protest, Lenya pulled the shirt over his head. It smelled of the bag's leather and soap, now mixing with the earthy elfroot and sweat upon his skin. She wrinkled her nose. She was in no position to complain, given how much blood and dirt was also clinging to her armor and own skin. And she was waaaay too close to him now. She took a hasty step back, leaving him to do the rest. "I, um, " He cleared his throat, the flush of pink in his cheeks now more pronounced than ever. "That was unexpected. Are you sure you didn't hit your head, back in Honnleath? Or did the darkspawn kidnap my fellow Warden and left us a doppelganger when I wasn't looking?"

Creators, not his crappy jokes again. "Ugh."

"See, that is more like it." He chuckled, tilting his head in amusement. " I was getting worried for a minute there with all your niceness. And while... unexpected, I appreciate it," he added after a bit. "But I have already taken up too much of your time."

Lenya crossed her arms. "On this we can agree..."

"Thought so," he said, still smiling. "Since you look tired and hadn't even time to undress yet." He stopped short, his eyes growing wide. "I, um, oh Maker. The armor, I mean. Not the rest, of course. Unless -" His mouth plopped shut and Alistair buried his head into his good hand with a groan.

Maybe it was the exhaustion finally catching up with her, maybe she was simply going insane, but there was nothing she could do to stop the laughter bubbling up her throat. It started small, with a snort and suppressed giggle and quickly turned into her doubling over and chortling loudly.

"What a relief that my social ineptitude is _so _amusing to you, my lady."

It was stupid and Lenya tried to stop. But the laughter rippled through her like pond's surface hit by pebbles, pulling her back in just when she thought to have calmed down. Yep, this was it. She was losing her mind and was having a blast doing so.

Alistair's stare lingered on her throughout it all, and probably those from the rest of this fucking camp as well. "Aaaareee you quite alright?" His grin was audible in his voice, tinged with disbelief. Though the uncertainty was lost soon in the warm timbre of his own laughter; breathy at first, as if trying to keep it in check. Then, it shifted into something rumbling, loud and genuine as he laughed along with her, and probably didn't even know why. Not that it mattered much at this point.

Resting her hands on her knees, Lenya inhaled sharply in the umpteenth attempt to not let dissolve into another snort upon releasing. Pressing her eyes shut, she exhaled and... _nothing_. Thankfully, so. Her heart hammered loudly against hurting rips. Not only from laughter, but the bruises forming there, from her earlier fall down the steps. She was struggling for air and the world around her spun a bit too quick, yet for the first time in weeks the tension, wrung tightly like a knot inside, was _gone_.

"No," Lenya replied belatedly, looking up at him. "I'm not alright, but -" she let the remaining words fade into a sigh. "I should leave. Undressing and all."

"Riiiight." He arched an eyebrow at her, his lip still curved into a lopsided grin. "Laugh all you want... no wait, you already _have_."

Her sigh was more weary this time, without bite. Lenya turned to leave, then stopped once more to look over her shoulder. "Goodnight, Alistair."

"Aww, so she_ does _know my name," he said behind her, sounding far more pleased that he had any right to be.

.

.

* * *

.

**Change Notes:**

While I took over some elements from the old chapter (catphobia! It is a thing. No, really) I reworked it in regards of pacing a lot and cut out a lot from the old version. Amalia is also saved here instead of dying, which is a more satisfying ending and leaves the possibility to encounter them again. The camp scene is completely new and pretty much the jumpstart for a better understanding between both Wardens. Hey Alistair gets the name upgrade after all ;) It is still a long, complicated path for both of them (and the others) ofc. Also please appreciate my dad jokes, I am quite proud of them xD

Thank you for reading. Reviews are always appreciated. Let me know what you think about this chapter


	12. Compromise

**A/N:** _This chapter had been originally written and published on Ao3 in November 2018. If you want to see the up-to-date version of this story, come find me on Ao3 under the same nickname (Merilsell) and story name (Of Elves And Humans: Redux). Enjoy?_

_._

* * *

_._

**Chapter 12: Compromise**

_._

_"Butterfly, Butterfly," a little girl with long blonde hair sung, and followed its fluttering path with her eyes, hopping up and down._

_Suddenly the insect made a turn and flew deeper into the woods. She ran after it without a second thought, dry twigs cracking under her light steps. Eventually, the butterfly landed upon the hollow trunk of a tree, near a massive, green-leafed oak. Giggling, she inched a bit closer to observe it. Its delicate, yellow wings were beautiful._

_The girl crouched down to quietly move closer to the trunk, in the same way a grown up hunter had shown her. Warmth bloomed within her chest when she'd managed to approach the butterfly without scaring it away. She reached her hand out to the insect, wanted to touch it, causing it to fly away. It drifted high up into the sky, passing the foliage of the trees until it was gone._

_She pouted as her green eyes followed the insect on its way to the sky. Now she didn't have anyone to play with and Ashalle was still busy with boring, grown-up things she didn't understand. There, a rustling of branches! Her eyes darted in the direction of the noise, and startled upon what she saw. Two yellow eyes of a strange animal were staring directly at her. She knew a lot of animals but this creature was foreign to her._

_With a mixture of curiosity and fear she slowly inched closer to observe it. The animal didn't back away, ignored her even. It wasn't large; it had black velvety fur, two little pointy ears and a tail. Oh exciting! Her heart beat quicker the closer she came to the animal. She knelt down next to it, tilted her head, and smiled into the eyes of the animal._

_"Will you be my friend? You look nice."_

_She reached out to touch its soft fur, but before she could even touch it, the creature swiped its paw and scratched her across the cheek with its sharp claws. Hissing, it then turned and run away, into the thicket of the woods. Eyes wide, she fell backward on the leafed ground. Her right cheek burned like fire, and upon touching it, she noticed it was bleeding._

_Tears welled into her eyes and ran down her face, which only made the deep scratch burn more. Hugging her knees, she started to sob bitterly. How stupid of her to run so deep into the woods on her own! Ashalle was going to be so angry with her for this, and she would be all alone with no one loving her anymore!_

_"What are you doing here?" a boyish voice asked, nearly drown out by the sound of her crying. "Th-there w-was an evil anim-animal," she managed between the sobs, tears blinding her eyes._

_"You mean the black one?" Nodding, she blinked quickly to clear her eyes and raised her head to look at him. He had ash-blonde, tousled hair and freckles within his pale face. It was a boy of her clan, she had seen often before but rarely talked with, so far._

_"It is called cat," he explained. "I have seen it here a few times. The Keeper said that there are sometimes animals of the shemlen strolling around in the forest. It probably ran away from them." He looked down to her and frowned. "Hey, you are bleeding!" The boy searched in his pocket and handed her a slightly dirtied handkerchief. "Take this."_

_"Ma serannas." She winced as she pressed the cloth on the scratch. Cats were horrible animals, but the boy seemed to be nice. "What is your name?"_

_"Tamlen. I'm six years old and will be a great hunter one day." He stretched himself and swung the stick in his hands. "I was hunting animals here!"_

_Lenya crossed her arms. "You should have hunted the cat then!"_

_Tamlen nodded. "Next time. We can do it together!" Helping her back on her feet, he frowned at her. "I have seen you a lot, but I don't remember your name."_

_"I'm Lenya." She sniffled, her tone defiant. "I'm four years old, but I'm already a big girl. Ashalle said that."_

_"Lenya? That is a nice name..."_

_She smiled at him. Suddenly, her burning cheek wasn't that bad anymore. "Will you be my friend?"_

"_ Yes," Tamlen said, and took her hand. "Let's go back to our camp."_

.

.

Awoken from the Beyond, Lenya gasped for air and quickly blinked the remnants of the dream away. _Why this memory? Why now? _It must have been this damn demon disguised as a cat in Honnleath that conjured these pictures back into her mind. Heart in her throat, she sat up and let her head sink into her hands. Even if it hadn't been a nightmare, her forehead was clammy with cold sweat. The prior innocent memory hurt, was squeezing her insides in a tight grip. She hated her mind for its insistence to keep bringing _him _up, when all she wanted was to lock down the memories of _him _forever.

_Of course it does _, a smug voice ringing through her head told her, unbidden, _since you are to blame for his death._

"Shut up!" Lenya yelled, startled by the volume of her own voice. She inhaled sharply, quickly lifted her head to glance left and right. No reaction from the others followed upon her outburst, and the silence in the half-dark of dawn lingered. She must have tossed and turned, since her bedroll and furs were at the other end of her small tent and she sat on the verdant ground. The coolness of the grass beneath herself was a stark contrast to her heated body. The loose linen shirt clang to her skin in places and sweaty strands of hair stuck to her cheeks. Wiping them away, Lenya grimaced before letting out a resigned sigh.

So much for a good, long rest.

She looked up, noting the first, faint rays of daylight splaying across the thin canvas of her tent. The exhaustion chilled her bones as much as the gush of wind hitting her sweat-damp skin did. With a groan she searched her backpack for her soap, a fresh shirt and linen cloth and crawled out her tent, hating everything.

.

.

* * *

.

The grassy hills surrounding the camp were slowly losing the gray of night and regaining their colors, like the leaves of the trees framing the purling stream she reached after a short, unwilling trek. Looking up, Lenya scowled at the dawn sun peeking through a hazy screen of clouds, which painted the sky an elaborate mix of bloodied reds and vibrant oranges. Early mornings were the _worst. _In general and even more so after a restless night. Even Revas refused to trail after her and instead flopped over to continue sleeping.

Lenya wished she could do the same but alas – _oh no. _Feeling the telltale scream of him in her head, she stopped in her tracks. The pull of taint, was less pronounced and nauseating as when encountering darkspawn, yet still annoying. And it wasn't only that, no. She could also hear faint sobbing coming from his direction. The human – _Alistair – _was crying again and she was more than ill-equipped, nor willing to deal with that, especially right now. Lenya turned on her heels. Maybe, if she would just quietly –

"Lenya?" She grimaced upon hearing her name called out. Well, the pull of taint worked both ways, so it shouldn't surprise her that he was aware of her presence. And still, her mind raced with excuses and ways to get the fuck out of there and away from him. It wasn't exactly her business, nor her job to console that human. Instinctively, her eyes searched for a larger sized stone on the ground, even before she became aware of doing so. Ah yes, the good ol' knock him out and run approach, she had thought about so often, but never ended up trying. Perhaps today would be a good first–

He cleared his throat, drew in some hasty gulps of air. "W-what are you doing here?"

"Leaving now," she muttered, but something in his voice kept her from following through with her words. She turned around to him with a sigh. He sat hunched over with his back against the trunk of an old birch. Delicate green leaves spread out in a nature's roof above and its cracked bark was silvery in places, like halla fur. There was a fragrance here, a distinctive aroma of leaves and soil, seizing her heart with a pang of melancholy. The ground, soft soil and lumpy with the tree's thick roots looked far too inviting to her all the sudden.

Lenya swallowed and waited for the slight tremble within her knees to pass before finally addressing him. "This is the only source of water close by, so it should obvious what I am doing here, idiot."

"Fishing?" he asked, but it lacked his usual humorous tone.

"Yes puppy, _fishing_." Lenya rolled her eyes as she approached him further. No point in running away anymore. "Because I love nothing more than to get up in the ass of dawn and stare at water."

"I'm pretty sure fishing doesn't work that way," Alistair quipped, but his heart wasn't in it. His eyes were still glistening with tears, even after he wiped at them in haste, ashamed. "Sorry, not in the mood for jokes right now. I didn't expect anyone to be up yet, so -" He left the words hanging and swallowed, still not looking up to her. "I'll get out of your hair. You surely want to... err, fish in peace."

"What is that?" Sprawled on last seasons leaf litter next to him lay a... letter? Lenya frowned, seeing that the paper was crinkled, as if crumpled up and straightened out again right after. Alistair reached for it, but she was quicker in picking it up and started to read. The handwriting was scrawled, the sentences choppy, as if hastily written.

.

_My detour through the Brecilian Forest has led me to a Dalish camp. I have found the needed recruit there. A Dalish who came into contact with a tainted mirror. Longer story. Now we are now on our way back to Ostagar. Arrival is estimated in a few days. In time for the upcoming battle anyhow. Do already arrange the preparations for the Joining. Utmost important that we have to do the ritual quickly after our arrival._

_Duncan, Warden Commander Of Ferelden._

.

The Warden leader shem, of course. Now the flaring up of Alistair's grief and behavior made so much sense. Because finding a letter from _him _or anyone of her clan would also – Lenya exhaled and pressed her eyes shut for a second or two, urging the rush of sorrow back down.

"I didn't know that I still had it," he whispered more than spoke. "Junan – a fellow Warden – gave it to me in, in - " He closed his eyes, suppressed a whimper. "A couple of days before you arrived with Duncan. Said I should hold onto the letter..." Alistair scoffed. "... guess I really did, huh?"

Not knowing what to say, Lenya only nodded. "Of course," he added, attempting a small smile that fell flat. "When you arrived you were not quite what we expected you to be, nor I, for that matter."

"What is this supposed to mean?" she bristled, stemmed her hands into her hips. "If you start talking like that damn Qunari and telling me that women can't fight I'll will dunk your hea-"

"N-no, Maker. Not that." He rose his both hands to placate, but quickly lowered his right one with a hiss of pain. "You are obviously very capable, but women are – _were _– pretty rare in our ranks, at least at the time where - " Alistair words faded into a sigh and he let himself fall back onto the leafed tapestry, all intent on leaving gone. "Which is why we expected a guy."

Lenya remained standing, crossing her arms. "Yeah, I was not exactly there by choice, puppy."

"The many times you tried to escape from Duncan to run back to your clan made that obvious, believe me," he said, short-lived amusement in his voice. Then he looked up to her and the warmth found within his eyes... was unnerving. "But you haven't tried doing so ever since, well, _that _happened. Thank you."

"Yeah..." she muttered, looking away. "Guess I'm stuck here now, ugh."

"I'm glad," he said by a way, shrugging with his healthy shoulder. "Since you are a good person, Lenya. Even if you want to make everyone believe that you are not."

"Hmpf," she scoffed, glaring at the water of the stream. "You don't know me, shem."

"Right..." His gaze burned at the side of her face and her ear started to slightly twitch. "But I would like to."

Ugh, this human. Maddening. Her head whipped around to him, her glare shifted to him. "Why? _Why _though? I'm not here to make friends or coddle you, human. I am here to survive... whatever that is."

"Because _I'm _stuck here now, too." The corner of his mouth twitched upwards. Wasn't he inconsolable about the Warden shem just moments ago? "And... we are fellow Wardens, right?"

"Unfortunately, yes," she snapped, sharper than meant.

"Ouch. Beat him when he is down, huh?" He slowly got up, the whole motion a bit more ponderous than usual. "Well, probably my sign to leave you alone, _my fellow Warden_."

"You wanna talk about the Warden -err- Duncan?" _What the fuck are you doing, self? _Scowling at her own words, Alistair stopped in his tracks.

"What?" Turning back to her, he frowned. "Why?

"Ugh I don't know." She really didn't. "You just looked like as if you wanted to talk about that... shem."

"And you would listen? Voluntarily?" Alistair laughed out loud. "Are you sure you didn't hit your head, back in Honnleath?"

"Ugh." Lenya grimaced, finally snapping out of whatever strange impulse she was under. She started to move away. "Forget I asked."

"N-no, wait, Lenya." He let out an annoyed groan; directed at himself, it seemed. Rightfully, so. "I'm good in putting the foot in my mouth, am I not? I didn't mean to make fun of you. It is simply a surprising offer from you, but one made in kind. I'm sorry."

"Fine," she said, plopping down on the ground. "Then talk, human."

He stared at her for a moment, then shook his head. "You don't have to do this, if you don't want to. After all you didn't know, nor even liked Duncan."

_Yes, but if it stops your whining... _Lenya winced at her own thought, too harsh for her own taste. Annoying as he could be, he deserved better than this. "True." She nodded, settled for something much milder. "But you did, right?"

"Yes." The word was drawn out and pronounced with hurt kept too long inside. It was the kind known to her, far better than wanted. This had been a terrible, terrible idea. Leaning against the tree, he remained standing; probably not trusting himself to get back up once more with his injury. "He was my mentor. This may sound stupid to you, but part of me wishes I were there, with him. In the battle." He exhaled, shakily. "I feel like I have abandoned him."

A really, _really _terrible idea, indeed. Lenya tensed, her fingers clawed at the grass and soft soil beneath for purchase. His words sent her head spinning, hitting her in the worst way possible. Each syllable of it was dizzying, nauseating and throat-constricting, making it hard to speak or breathe. Pressing her eyes shut, she counted downward from ten to zero, grasping for something that wasn't her own regret mirrored there. "It is not... stupid," she managed at the number zero, at last. "I... understand completely."

"Of course, I would be dead then," he mused, his voice cracking. "It is not _that _would have made him happier."

_Tamlen_. Lenya rarely allowed herself to think of his name, but here it flared up in her mind too quickly to suppress it. She would have died, _should _have, along with him, or rather _instead _of him.

_Your fault._

Her fingers dug in the earth, ripped out pieces of grass and soil, as if doing so could alleviate their combined survivor's guilt. It did little to banish the tension and hurt gnawing at her insides, the feeling lingered. At least her breathing evened out, with focusing more on her hands, the mooring effect of her motions. When Lenya opened her eyes again, she found his gaze lingering upon her face, silent but observing. She suppressed the need to flinch under his stare. His eyes were never cold and always seemed to grasp too much of herself with a single glance. It was unnerving. She turned her head away, which he took as a signal to continue speaking, after clearing his throat.

"I'd like to have a proper funeral for him, once all this is done." He sighed, his voice low and sad. "If we are still alive. I don't know." Without meaning to, they exchanged a look, mutually aware of this impossibility, given what they were up against. The corner of his mouth lifted to a small smile, but it remained brittle and was quickly gone again. He tilted his head. "The Dalish don't practice cremation, do they? How do your people honor the dead?"

_Swiftly do stars burn a path across the sky, Hast'ning to place one last kiss upon your eye._

Her eyes hardened upon his. "H-how do you know this, human?

"Well, there is only so much praying you can do growing up in the Chantry without going _insane_. Thankfully, they had a lot of books. So I read a lot, sought out knowledge beyond the Chant, even beyond what the Chantry deemed appropriate or important to learn." He let out a snort, lips pursed to a lopsided grin. "Don't tell Morrigan though, I have a reputation to uphold."

Lenya laughed out loud, easy and clear. It was genuine amusement about his subtle joke, instead of annoyance. No one was more surprised about it than herself. Her eyes upwards, she shrugged. "You are many things, but not stupid, Alistair." She heard him exhale, louder than usual. Dawn red had turned into a hazy blue above. The horizon was brighter now than before, despite the clouds obscuring the sun. Some of that pink that had vanished from the sky seemed to have wandered into his cheeks as she looked back up at him. What an odd human. Then she remembered that he'd posed a question, and she decided to reply to it truthfully. "We bury our dead and plant trees over their bodies."

"That sounds quite beautiful. Life springing from death."

It was the softness of his voice, the genuine amazement audible within his words that got her. Tears shot into her eyes and blurred her sight, even before her muddied hand could catch the gasp escaping her mouth. Lenya used her back as a protective wall between him and herself, turned it toward him, as she crumbled.

_Tenderly land enfolds you in slumber, softening the rolling thunder._

The heady remembrance of the incense burned in her nose and Paivel's word recited on that day rang through her mind. They did bury _him _too, said goodbye, but there was no body.

_Dagger now sheathed, bow no longer tense. During this, your last hour, only silence._

His grave was empty, the ritual just a farce. He died alone, forgotten. _It should have been me._

Her shoulders trembled and her whole body followed suit, wrecking her with silent sobs.

_It should have been me._

"You have lost someone too." It wasn't a question. She felt him looming behind and over her, as if unsure to give space or comfort. His hand brushed awkwardly over the back of her head and down the tousled mess of hair, almost like he was petting a dog. The warmth of his hand settled on her shoulder then, giving it a slight squeeze. He let it rest there.

The gesture was oddly calming, enough for allowing her to speak again. "Please... leave me alone." Alistair hummed softly and withdrew his hand to heed her wish. The hitch in his distancing steps was giving away his reluctance to do so. Even in his absence, the warmth of his touch on her shoulder lingered.

.

.

* * *

.

Later that day, they made halt in Merinwood once more, but it became quickly clear that their presence wasn't wished there any longer. And before Lenya could _murderstab _the owner of the inn refusing to rent to 'knife-ears and malificars', they opted to make camp in the village's outskirts instead. In this way, they still had access to their resources in exchange for coin, without having to resort to murder. Not that Alistair would have minded... _much _in this case, after the undisguised disdain shown toward his fellow Warden for not being human and not grovelling at the owner's feet like he was clearly used to from elves. It would all have been simply so terribly, _terribly _inconvenient with all the blood and guts and -

"I have never heard of such a thing called a Qunari," Shale's booming voice brought him back to the here and now; a quiet afternoon in camp, a few days later. The golem was standing next to a kneeling Sten, who sharpened his greatsword with a whetstone in long, measured strokes.

"Then you have not been listening." The Qunari shook his head, without looking up. "We did not row to shore last year. We have been about for centuries."

"I have listened." The stone of its shoulders creaked, as Shale heaved them to a shrug. "I have done little else, in fact, and yet I do not remember anyone mentioning such a Qunari in all my years in the village."

Unsurprising," Sten scoffed, while glaring the small nicks in his blade into submission. "Relying on humans as a source of education is a fool's errand."

"They are rather ignorant, aren't they?" The golem laughed out loud, a hollow sound. It clearly enjoyed the direction of the conversation. "And feeble. At the best of times."

"Hey, hey... Lenya." Alistair shifted his attention back to his fellow Warden standing in front of him. The freckles dusted around her nose and cheeks moved as she frowned in concentration at his shoulder. The last time she was so close to him, he was in too much pain and the surroundings too dark to notice that detail of her face. Weird that he did so now, though. "You are missing out on joining the we-hate-humans club over there."

"Shht," she warned him, but he saw the upturn quirk of her lip while she cut and removed each thread of his stitched wound with precision. It had healed quicker than even he had thought and as such, the threads keeping it together weren't needed any longer.

"Ah, I see," he teased, trying to look anywhere that wasn't the intense green of her eyes. "You want to listen what they are saying, right?"

"We have creatures on Par Vollen that are similar. The humans call them 'monkeys,'" Sten said. "They are dull, cowardly vermin. They cry out shrilly when threatened and throw their own feces."

Lenya let out a snort at that, quite boisterous and unladylike, but it fitted her. She momentarily ceased her work to eavesdrop on the rest of their companion's conversation.

"That is an excellent comparison," Shale agreed. "I wonder if they are related?"

"Possibly," the Qunari replied and the easy, metallic scraping sound picked up in volume again. Their talk was finished. Lenya turned around to dip her fingers into the mortar with the elfroot salve, placed on the unoccupied log next to him, and was still grinning when she started to apply it on his skin.

"Yeah, I thought you would like that." There was a cool professionalism to her touch, but her fingers were still warm and... a bit distracting. It was a foreign sensation for him to be touched; especially skin upon skin contact, with all the armor he usually wore. Better to not think about that. Alistair cleared his throat.

"Now we have _two _murderous giants, a witch of the wilds and a lay sister with visions of the Maker. What is next?" he mused, more to divert himself than with any sense and purpose. "Maybe a clown throwing knives who is trying to murder us first, before joining our cause? He would fit right in, that is for sure."

Lenya bestowed his squall of words with her usual annoyed groan. The familiarity of her reaction settled warm and fuzzy in his stomach as a satisfying feeling. He knew she would respond in this way, it was one of the very few things about her that were certain. Many others remained a mystery. She wrapped a fresh bandage around his shoulder and arm, and finished it off with knotting the ends. "Do you think the wound will leave a scar?" he asked, voice low and amused. "I heard women like that." He winced right after the words were spoken. Maker what was he doing?

Her eyes trailed over his chest with the same cool detachment. He still felt bare in more than one way under her stare and his hand moved to cover up his small belly. No matter how hard he trained, a bit of softness there remained. It seemed he'd only managed to develop muscles around his center, but not within. Not fully, anyhow. "You already have many scars, that is true." Looking back up at him, she shrugged. "But so have I. It is nothing special."

Wait, she had _many _scars? There was a faint white line curving upwards on her cheek, but many? Where were the other ones? Why did he even want to know? Ugh, it was about time that they would break up camp and move on. He was going stir-crazy in camp without being able to physically exhaust himself in training sessions or battle. He fully expected himself to sit in between the senior village women and men to gossip along with them any time soon. "Have you decided where to go next, for the treaties?"

Not replying, her fingers slid down from the shoulder to his bicep and poked and prodded the muscle there. "Ouch." He gave her a dubious look. "What are you doing?"

Lenya let go off his arm. "No nerve damage then, good."

Alistair opened and closed his hand in quick succession, amazed that the motion no longer painfully tugged at his shoulder. "Wow, you really know your stuff, huh?"

"I had to learn this. Hunting is dangerous," she admitted with a small smile and shrug of her shoulder. "Also got into a lot of trouble and fights." Oh, _this _he believed without a doubt. Her green eyes fixed his face, narrowed a bit. "Why are you asking me about the treaties? You are the Grey Warden here, human."

"What?" Alistair arched an eyebrow at her, and watched her as she cleaned the leftover salve from her hands with his water-skin. It tinged the air around him with the elfroot's sweet smell. "Don't tell me you have already forgotten the part where you drank some blood and passed out?"

Lenya made a frustrated noise at the back of her throat. "Yes, the supposed cure for being tainted was consuming more taint. Genius, really. How could I ever forget that?"

"That is not how this-" He stopped, decided to not rise to her blithely bait. Bending over to pick up his discarded shirt from the ground, he pulled it over his head and welcomed the warmth it provided. With the evening and descending sun also came the chill of night. Plus, this was Ferelden. "Then why did you call me_the _Grey Warden?"

She regarded him coolly. "You are one much longer than me."

"By whole six months, thank you very much. I'm not exactly a senior Warden in any sense of this word." Alistair hesitated, his tongue heavy with the admission needed to be made. "Besides, I'm no leader, Lenya. I'd prefer to follow."

"Oh really?" Lenya sneered, stemming her hands into her sides. "Well, I'd prefer to not do any of _this_. I'd prefer to follow my clan and leave Ferelden behind." She stressed each word, plowed them forward with more and more velocity and volume. "But I don't get to do this, why should you? In case you haven't noticed yet, this isn't some pick and choose situation. So get over it, shem."

_Back to shem, are we? _Anger flared, rumbled like a distant beast inside of him. Why was it always him who needed to compromise? The figurative eggshells he walked on around her most of the time threatened to break under frustration mounting. "You are not really a person that follows orders, Lenya." He released a breath he'd been withholding and stared straight at her. "And you _were _already leading, making decisions all the time before. Why is it now a problem all the sudden, when I bring it up?"

She angrily poked the flames of the campfire with a stick, sending sparks flying in the air. How very symbolic. "Because you make it fucking easy for yourself that way, shem. All the decisions and responsibilities? Hey just let the stupid Dalish do that for me! Groveling like a good elf should, right?"

"That was not what I was saying and you know that!" Around him, everyone had ceased their activity to stare at them, _him_. His surroundings had grown silent, save for his heartbeat turning into a warning thrum in his ears. He was hanging on the last threads of his patience. Again she'd twisted his words and spat them out as something wholly foreign. Why did she always do that? Why this need for constant confrontation? It was..._tiring_. Not wanting to repeat the perpetual cycle again, he tried a final time, voice soft. "I'm still here, Lenya. I'm not going anywhere."

She didn't answer. Wrapped in layers of armor, both literal and figurative, her expression was unyielding, frozen in a scowl. The sparks of the campfire rising up seemed to submerge into her, fueling her ire. Lenya slanted her head, narrowed eyes trained on him. Each word was clipped and calculated, cutting him with the precision her blades did in battle. "And just _how _is this a good thing?"

"That is not fair," Alistair protested, the hurt blooming like liquid fire in his guts. She probably knew it wasn't as well, though for now her temper and stubbornness overrode this knowledge. Or worse, she really did not care, but no, she wasn't like that. She wasn't cold and callous, the various small moments spent with her made it obvious. Still, she could be Maker-damned frustrating, to the point where he wondered why Duncan had-

"Life isn't either." The stick made a resounding _crack _as she broke it over her knee and threw it into the fire. "Get used to it," Lenya added with an indignant huff and stormed away.

"How is this helping to fight the Blight?"

"You tell me, Qunari." Not even stopping once, she shoved Sten aside and disappeared in between the treelines.

"It has _some _anger issues, hasn't It?" Shale laughed. "I hope It takes it out on the birds pestering these trees."

From his distanced position, Sten scowled over at Alistair. "You have to control your woman better. She is unreasonable."

Did he hear that right? "Excuse me?" Alistair bristled, anger shifting to the Qunari. Before he could speak further however, Morrigan fell into his words.

"You are a fool if you believe you can put her into her place, or..." She pointed at Alistair, her tone pure distaste. "...that she belongs to this imbecile."

"Is she no Grey Warden, then?" There was genuine confusion within the words laced with irritation. "She dresses up like one in the armor and pretends to be a man. It doesn't make any sense, and her irrationality shows that."

"She is a woman and she fights. Same as I!" Clasping her book shut, she glared into the Qunari's direction. It was surprising that the self-centered, aloof witch made the effort to stand up for Lenya. But it was less about her than Sten's narrow point of view that got a raise out of Morrigan, wasn't it? It was quite insulting himself and it must have been tenfold so for his female companions. "Do not be such a blind fool. You can see women throughout this land, fighters and mages both."

"That has yet to be proven," he scoffed, mirroring her glare.

"Which?" Her voice was clipped, seething with barely contained rage. "That they fight? Or that they are female?"

"Either."

"So I am not truly a woman to you?" Regarding him with haughty disapproval, Morrigan made a quick _tsk _behind her teeth. "Hmm. 'Tis good to know." She turned away from the Qunari and picked up her discarded book to resume reading. The issue still hang unresolved between them and over the whole camp, in fact. For her the discussion was not longer worth her attention, however.

"No one has a place here. No one is content with who they are. There is no order, nor discipline," Sten groused, shaking his head with a disgusted noise. "No wonder we had conquered so much of your lands so quickly."

"Well, that was bracing." Leliana approached the center of their camp from behind Alistair, carrying a bundle of sticks and thicker branches within her arms. Trailing behind her, Revas pulled a bough twice as long as his own body in his muzzle after himself. He showed a doggy grin and his stumpy tail wagged, fully enjoying this task. The mabari spat the branch out near Alistair's feet and lay down to gnaw on it. Leliana piled the newly collected bundle on top the few branches left, next to the campfire. This should last them through the night. She peered over her shoulder, back at him. "Is everything alright, Alistair?"

He let his head sink into his his left hands and squeezed his eyes with two of his fingers. "No. It isn't." Alistair replied in honest, and swallowed. "I feel everything is falling apart before it has even started."

He heard a _clang _as the rest of the wood fell to the ground. Sitting down next to him, she lay her arm around his shoulder and hugged him in a friendly, supportive way. "This all is a lot to take in, I understand. For you." She paused for a moment. "And her. I do not fault you for doubting, but it would be wrong to give up your chosen path. The Maker - "

"Chosen?"Alistair cut her off, head snapping up to scowl at her. "None of it _is _chosen, Leliana. It should have never happened in the first place." _If only Duncan were here. _Tears welled up behind his eyelids. He blinked fast to keep them at bay, but grief already had claimed his heart and rocked his body with soundless sobs. "I'm sorry. I should handle this better. Anyone can die in battle. Duncan warned me about it from the start. I shouldn't -" Alistair raised his hand to shield his forehead and eyes, didn't want her – or anyone – to see him sobbing yet _again_. Would it ever stop? Be better?

"Hey, there is nothing to be sorry about," Leliana said softly and shushed him as one might shush a child. They sat for a bit in silence, her fingers squeezed his left shoulder in comfort while he gasped through stuttering bouts of air.

"Huh, It is leaking again," Shale said, meaning him crying. "It does little else, I noticed."

"Shale, not now, please."

But the golem ignored Leliana's request and plowed on, words heavy like its approaching steps. "For one who professes to be a warrior, I find It remarkably weak-willed and indecisive." The golem seemed to have come to a stop at Leliana's side, its presence looming over them. "It also likes to hide its many weaknesses behind a veil of jocularity."

Wow, have me all figured out, huh?" His mouth was drawn tight, irritation bristling against the inside of his chest. "For a statue, you know a lot of big words."

"I heard what It said. With all the yelling was impossible not to." The white light – lava? – slit the creature had for eyes added to its cold stare. "Is there a reason it enjoys following others so much? Especially when it is in a position to lead?"

"Have you ever been responsible for someone else's life? Or a lot of other lives? Or an entire nation?"

The golem shook its head. "Of course not!"

Alistair jumped up, making himself taller in front of the massive creature. His jaw clenched, along with his fist, words forced out through gritted teeth. "Then. Shut. Up!"

Pah," it scoffed, regarding him with indifference rather than something to be crushed. Oh good. His life went him by right after his outburst, awaiting certain death by maiming. "I will remember this moment when the birds come." Turning, Shale stomped away, returning to its place near to the Qunari's tent and Bodahn's cart.

"Yelling at the moody golem?" Leliana arched an eyebrow at him. "Not sure if I should be impressed or scolding you for this."

"Yes well," Alistair made a face, turning his expression into pure chagrin. "I'm not exactly known for making good and sound decisions. ...Not that there had been many in my life so far," he muttered under his breath.

"Oh? How come?"

"This is a story for another time, Leliana." He made a face. "I believe I have whined enough into your ears for one night."

"Aww, it is adorable, in a way," Leliana said, smirking. "Like a puppy that is vying for attention with yipping in one's ear." _Wait is this why Lenya calls me 'puppy'? Ugh. _There was a new distaste for this nickname under the new perspective for him. "I was joking, Alistair," she assured him, mistaking his reaction. "You have every right to complain. What you do, _both _of you do, isn't easy. But you are not alone. We are here along the way, to help you."

"Yeah, at least until we all start murder each other, because we are getting along so well." He shot her a sarcastic glance, wrapped himself into the comfort of his humor again. "But I like you Leliana... as a friend," he felt obliged to add, blushing a bit. "So I would give you a heads up before I would run up and try to slaughter everyone." Huh, that sounded really _really _creepy. Alistair pursed his lips, Great, another joke gone wrong. He was becoming an expert in these kinds.

"You think I'd need a head-up?" She broke into a wry smile. "That is cute, but unnecessary."

"Just a lay sister, huh?" he snorted, poking her shoulder. "I'm onto you and your dark secrets, dear lady!" Wait, did Leliana flinch at that? He checked her expression for another moment and clue, but it was trained back into friendly neutrality. Huh.

"Now, I was able to secure us freshly farmed vegetable from the village, enough for a filling stew, " she said a bit too loudly, clasped her hands on her knees and got up from her seat. His eyes narrowed briefly at her unnatural reaction, suspicion pin-pricking the back of his head. Leliana smiled at him. "Do you want to help me cook?"

Alistair shook the feeling off. It was probably nothing. And if she indeed planned to murder them all in their sleep, it was good to know that it would be quick and painless. Since she was very capable with bow and knife and all. ...Wow, was this their new standard for companions now? After letting Sten, a literal murderer of children and a bloodthirsty, uncontrollable golem trail along, this indeed seemed to be the case. Yeah, beggars couldn't be choosers, but _wow_. At this rate, the knife-throwing clown would not stay a joke for long. "That depends. Do you want it to be still editable afterwards?" he asked in return, grinning.

She threw him a knowing look. "I trust you enough to be capable to cut vegetable and fetch water, really."

"Hmm," Alistair hummed. Perhaps a menial task could get his mind off things. It was better than to continue sitting here and moping; about his fight with Lenya, and, well, everything else. "Alright. I'll get the water, then."

.

.

* * *

.

Later that evening, he was busying himself with reading a book he'd bought off Bodahn's cart for a copper coin. Unfortunately, its low price equaled its quality, but it was still better than staring at shadowed trees at the camp's border, waiting for Lenya's return. After all, it was her who continued to run away from any kind of conflict. Not without prior flinging unfounded accusations and insults into his direction, of course. _I'm not apologizing this time. _He had no reason to, anyway.

The book was the usual tale of a village boy stumbling into bigger than life adventures and coming out of them a man and beloved hero. Alistair huffed at a particular cheesy line of the main character, which let his female sidekick swoon into his arms. This book made it look so easy. The author clearly had no idea how unglamorous any of it was. The fighting, the blood, the smells, and the stubborn, _infuriating _female companion. Okay, now where by Andraste's mercy was she even? Her presence no longer resonated within his blood, which was... slightly concerning.

Alistair lowered his book to catch a glance toward the trees; just very briefly, thank you very much. Nonetheless, his eyes lingered where she'd vanished, teeth worn at his lower lip. It was probably nothing and she could take care of herself either way. Shaking his head, his eyes rest on the hound lying at his feet. Revas perked up not a moment later, reacting to something in the distance. Alistair peered into the darkness. Nothing. At first, anyway. He reached up to scratch the itch at the back of his head, but it came from _inside _of his skull, like the tug at his guts. _Ah_. There she was, still alive, appearing as flash of blonde in the distance. Good. Now he could go back to ignoring her.

Alistair raised his book higher to cover his face, and resumed reading. Or tried to, anyhow. With Revas jumping up and barreling toward Lenya like Morrigan's lightning spell towards a hurlock, this was easier said than done. The dog bounced up and down in his peripheral vision, barking repeatedly, while Lenya laughed upon being welcomed back with such fervor. Her presence burning bright and fierce in his blood – and not in the way the cheesy book in his hands meant, ugh – didn't help his concentration much either.

"Hey..." She approached him and he gripped the book harder, forced himself to not acknowledge her. _Not this time, Lenya. _A bit breathless, she sighed out loud, a tremble audible within. "Fine, be that way, puppy." Whirling, she stalked away and Alistair let out a breath, once she was out of earshot. Though with her being elvhen, it was nigh impossible to gauge the distance needed for that. He snorted, grinning to himself. _I bet she can hear a squirrel farting in the woods._

Her return a few minutes later was... unexpected. Even more so that she plopped down right next to him. So close that her armored thigh was nudging his clothed one, invading his space. She radiated heat, the wisps of it were hot against his own skin. Traces of the armor polish's smell clung to her skin; metallic tang mixed with the sweet of soap and something else entirely. Damn it. He was reading the same line now for the third time. She heaved another sigh, increased in volume, like a child waiting to be acknowledged. Completely unlike a child, she then stretched each of her limbs beside him, taking up more and more space on the shared, upturned log. How was he supposed to ignore that? The written words danced and swam before his eyes, became all a jumble through her proximity and _warmth._ Maker. Instead of looking up from his book, Alistair stared _harder _at it. _Not this time, Lenya_.

Done with arms and legs now, Lenya rolled her shoulders and commented each pop of her joints with a soft exhale, akin to a moan. Pressing his lips and eyes together, he lowered the book, admitting defeat. Or maybe not, if he only stole a glance to see what her deal was, this didn't count, right? This behavior was so out of character for what little he know of her, he might as well check if there were any bumps forming at the back of her head. It was only fair. She was his fellow Warden and a personality-changing head wound would be bad... _probably_.

He looked and there were no injuries, no visible ones anyway. Still, sweaty strands of blonde hair stuck to her head like a second skin. Freckles trailed down from her cheek to her chin, disappearing under the protective collar of her Warden armor. Her ear twitched briefly, its pointed tip flushed like the nape of her neck and cheeks. What had she been doing, out there?

Lenya turned her head and he froze, mortified by her noticing him staring. Well, it wasn't really staring_staring_, more like checking that she was okay, right? It was pure concern for her well-being and no one could tell him otherwise. Her eyebrow rose further and further up, along with the quirk of her lips. "Got your attention, at last?"

Alistair blinked. Once, twice. His mind raced and yet was way too slow to catch up with the rest of him. The usual, then. "W-what?"

Lenya shrugged lightly and got back up on her feet. Away from his personal space, she sat down again on the ground and crossed her legs. Next to her, Revas flopped on his back, and wiggled around in the grass, like an over-sized worm. She patted his belly, which the mabari bestowed with satisfied doggy grunts. "I wanted to apologize."

"W-what?" Huh, he was repeating himself here.

"I have been too harsh, I guess."

Okay, who was this woman and what did she do with his fellow Warden?

"I'm stuck with you annoying human now. No way around it."

"T-thanks? I guess?" His eyes darted left and right, uncertain what to make of all this. "What were even you doing out there?"

"Running."

"Running?" he repeated and grimaced right after. _Ugh, stop it, brain. Keep up!_

"Clearing my head, more like." Indeed, she was very relaxed but also seems focused and all the other things she would hurt him for saying out loud. So he didn't and only nodded his acknowledgment of her explanation. Lenya unrolled a large parchments on the ground in front of her. "What are the options?"

"For what?" Oh, the parchment was... a map of Ferelden. _Oh_. "For the treaties?"

She smiled sweetly at him. "No, for ways to murder you, if you keep asking stupid questions."

"Right. Not creepy at all." Coughing into his hand, he added, "We have treaties for the Dalish, dwarves and mages."

"The dwarves and mages. Got it." Lenya nodded and closed her eyes. Before he had the chance to comment on her omission of the treaty for her own people, she started to circle her finger over the whole map.

"What are you -"

After taking a few swirls, her finger dived down and landed in the midst of Frostback Mountain. "Leading," she said flatly, opening first one eye, then the other to peer down at her result.

"Leading?" Oh, Maker, not again. But how was he supposed to react to this? That woman constantly left him dumbfounded, even without trying.

"Are the _durgen'len _there?"

"Nooooo," Alistair drawled, still busy with processing what just had happened. He had so many questions. "But if you want to say hello to the Avvar and get skewered in return, _that _is the place."

"Hmpf," she made, pursing her lips. "Okay, once again, then." Releasing her finger from the rejected mountains depicted on the map, she closed her eyes and let it circle over once more. This was getting ridiculous! Leaning forward, he caught her hand mid-air to stop her, and enclosed it with his palm. Shocked, her eyes flew open, in sync with his mind screaming at him how she wasn't wearing any gloves. Oh no. He was so dead. Dead, dead, dead. Goodbye world. He released his grasp on her hand immediately, as though it were clad in fire and burning him. Considering the heat rising within his cheeks and belly, it may as well did that.

Alistair blinked, glancing away. "Sorry." He let out an undignified whimper, while his cheeks fast approached egg-frying temperature. _Words. How do you... words? _His gaze fell back on the map and now he was the one pointing. "There..." He shook himself, maybe this would loosen up his tongue. It worked for Revas, after all. "We are here, approximately."

Lenya slanted her head, while still scowling at the hand he had been holding... _stopping _before. No hand holding there, nope. "Your grasp for the obvious is astounding."

He ran right into this one, didn't he? "No, I mean. We are here. And the dwarves for the treaty are in Orzammar... over there," he said, showing her the distance in between the two.

"Okay," she said so brightly that it sounded fake. "Orzammar, it is, then." Rolling up the map again, she got up in one fluid motion. "See, puppy, you can make decisions after all."

His mouth stood agape as he stared after her until she'd vanished into her tent. This, _this _had been her plan all along, hadn't it? Shaking his head, he laughed out in disbelief. Well, at least he got his wish. She had agreed to lead their group. Sort of. Whether or not this was a good thing remained to be seen, but it wouldn't be boring either way.

.

.


End file.
